I Could Not Make The Rose
by KoshIII
Summary: House meets a woman at speed dating -- but Wilson is doing everything in his power to keep them apart. Does Wilson want House for himself? House/OFC, eventual House/Wilson. Some slightly dark!Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

House watched as Wilson methodically ironed the infamous blue shirt. House had tried ironing on his own, but after struggling several minutes with his technique, he had been pushed aside in frustration by Wilson, who grabbed the iron out of his hand. House was perfectly happy to let Wilson do all the work.

It had taken House four days after their brief meeting at speed dating to work up the nerve to call Erica. They had only spoken long enough for House to determine that she was a financial analyst, forty-five years old, and liked Oscar Peterson. But she was petite, brunette, and had a great smile. She also had seemed like she could take whatever House dished out. It wasn't easy finding a woman who could not only put up with House's crap, but draw a line and set limits for him. He would never admit it, but he loved it when someone could handle him like that. When speed dating had come to its inevitable end, and Chase ended up with a stack of numbers as thick as Moby Dick, Erica's was the only card House got. He figured there was no sense in wasting a potential lay, so he called to ask her out on a date. Somewhat to his surprise, she readily agreed.

Now all he had to do was iron his shirt and try not to say anything too rude. It had been a long time since he'd had a successful date. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do it.

"All set," Wilson called, shaking the shirt as if to release the last of the wrinkles. House pulled off his t-shirt and threw it on the ground, reaching for the dress shirt. Wilson tried not to look at House's bare chest, thinking that it might be inappropriate to "check out" his best friend, who just happened to be going out on a date with someone else. As House buttoned up the shirt, he looked up to Wilson with an unsure stare.

"Do I look alright?" he asked, hoping Wilson wouldn't notice the tremor in his right hand.

Wilson smoothed down the shirt with his right hand, not noticing how House's gaze followed the hand as it gently brushed House's chest. "You look great," he said confidently.

House nodded and unbuckled his belt. As he unzipped his fly and tucked the shirt into his pants, Wilson blushed.

"You gonna wear a tie?" Wilson asked, as much to distract himself from House's pants as to begin a conversation about ties. House thought about it, unsure.

"Do you think I should?" he asked, sounding like he might actually listen to Wilson's opinion on the matter. He had worn a tie for his date with Cameron, but hated them with a passion. He wondered if he could get away with going tie-less on his first date with Erica.

"You look really handsome with a tie on," Wilson ventured.

Resigned, House hobbled to his bedroom to find a tie.

* * *

"So, you play the piano?" Erica asked.

House nodded. "And the guitar, and harmonica, and a few other instruments here and there."

"Wow, you must be incredibly talented!"

House fidgeted. Erica was almost gushing, and House had no idea why. This was not something he was used to, or able to deal with.

"I'm okay, I guess," he said softly. He tried to change the subject. "So what do _you_ do when you're not analyzing the stock market?"

"Oh, I like to go to the symphony, go to my book club, do some volunteer work...."

Although she wasn't saying anything he outright disagreed with, House was becoming a bit bored by Erica's mundane list of activities. He knew he shouldn't say what came to his head, but couldn't help himself. "So do you find that volunteering helps to balance the scales between you and the downtrodden? Why not just donate your salary to the poor? Then you can live on nothing and not have to deal with the guilt brought about by your excessive lifestyle."

House inwardly cringed. He had said it. This date was over before it really began. Why couldn't he learn to just keep his mouth shut? At least once in a while?

Erica just smiled. "Actually, the people I work with would probably not be all that interested in money. What they need, money can't buy."

House was speechless. Had she just...responded to his attack? Without batting an eye?

"Who...uh, who do you work with?" he stammered out, thinking that maybe he could save this after all.

"I work with children who have been removed from their homes by CPS."

"So basically abused children?"

"Basically, yes."

"Huh." House had no witty reply. He tried to keep it a secret from friends and coworkers, but House had a soft spot for kids, especially kids with no other advocate.

"What sort of things do you do with the kids?"

"Well, it depends. Right now I've been working with the kids in this one particular foster home, taking them on outings and the like. There are five of them, so it really helps the foster parents. They need the break. Last weekend we all went bowling. It was a lot of fun."

House didn't think bowling would be all that much fun with five kids and no beer, but he kept that particular thought to himself. He flagged down the waiter as he walked by. "Can we get the check?"

Erica smiled. "Do you bowl?"

House smiled back, waggling his eyebrows. "Come back to my place and I'll show you my bowling shoes."

* * *

House unlocked the door and held it open for Erica. He led her through the dark living room, hesitant to flip any lights on the chance that it might wake Wilson. However, he wasn't expecting to trip halfway across the room.

"Shit!" he whispered. Whatever he had tripped over made a loud clanging noise.

"Oops," giggled Erica. "I guess your roommate probably heard that."

"Shhhh, maybe he slept through it." House held his finger up to his lips, even though neither person could see very well in the dark.

That issue was soon resolved when a light flooded the living room, burning House's eyes. Wilson had, indeed, awoken.

"Hi, House!" he exclaimed.

"Wilson," House nodded. Erica looked mortified.

Since House was not saying anything, Wilson took the initiative. "You must be Erica," he said politely, extending his hand. "I'm House's roommate, James Wilson." She shook his hand firmly, then glanced back at House.

"It's nice to meet you, James. Greg and I were just...um...."

"Oh, I'll put on a pot of coffee. We can get to know each other! Come have a seat." Wilson's enthusiasm was not contagious.

"You know what?" Erica began, "I was actually just about to leave. Just wanted to make sure Greg made it home alright."

House's eyebrows rose. That had certainly not been _his_ plan.

"Call me, Greg?" Erica asked, as she sauntered past House and out the door. House nodded. As soon as she was gone, he exploded on Wilson.

"What the hell was that?" he yelled.

Wilson feigned ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

"You just killed my mojo, that's what. She was all set to come meet Little Greg."

"Oh no, I'm sorry, House. I didn't realize I was interrupting anything. After all, you guys woke _me_ up...."

House just glared at Wilson. Wilson went back to his bedroom, apologizing once more. "I'm really sorry about that, House. Next time I won't say anything." He closed the door behind him softly. What House didn't see was the smirk on Wilson's face.

House shook his head at Wilson's antics, then looked down at what had tripped him. It was their entire set of copper cooking pots, stacked into each other. How on earth had those moved from the kitchen to the living room floor? House picked them up, dropped them onto the kitchen counter, then hobbled off to bed.

* * *

House was amazed when Erica agreed to a second date. This time the two decided to go to her place, where there were no strange roommates to interrupt anything that might start. Erica had dusted off her turn table and found her 33 RPM Art Tatum record. The two settled close together on the couch, eyes closed, listening and enjoying. House slowly opened his eyes and stared at Erica. Her head was laid back against the couch, fanning her hair out. She was beautiful. And she was feisty. How had he lucked out and found someone with just the right combination of looks, ability, and attitude? He reached out to gently brush a hair out of her face, and her eyes snapped open.

House smiled at Erica, and she smiled back. His hand never leaving the side of her face, the two leaned in for a kiss.

And then his pager went off.

House threw his head back with a groan. Fumbling for his pager, he flicked it off as he read the message. _EMERGENCY._ _NEED YOU AT HOSPITAL ASAP. -WILSON_

If Cuddy had paged him, he might have ignored it. But Wilson would never page him without a damn good reason.

Sighing, House looked at Erica sadly. "I have to go to work."

Trying to hide her exasperation, Erica quickly pecked his cheek. "Well, you are an important doctor. Wouldn't want to keep the sick people waiting."

House paused, trying to determine the level of facetiousness. "I really am sorry."

"I know you are, babe. It's okay. We will get this right eventually. Third time will have to be the charm, I guess."

House smiled, grabbed his cane, and paused again at the door. "I'll call you tomorrow so we can talk about that third time."

* * *

House walked in through the automatic doors of PPTH, heading straight toward the intake desk. "I was paged, what's the emergency?"

The nurse at the desk looked at him quizzically. "We didn't page anybody, Doctor House. It's been a pretty slow night, actually."

"Yeah, Wilson paged me. Where is he?"

"Dr. Wilson? I don't think he's here tonight."

House rolled his eyes and ambled to the elevator doors. Obviously this nurse was too much of an idiot to even keep track of what doctors were at work when. He rode the elevator up, then quickly made his way down to Wilson's office. The door was locked.

Stymied, House fished around in his pockets for his cell phone. He dialed Wilson and listened to the chords of Springsteen's "Gypsy Biker" – Wilson's ringtone for House. Finally, Wilson answered. "What's up?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm home, where are you?"

Home? What was Wilson doing _there_? "I'm at the hospital, you moron."

"Oh, I didn't realize you had a case."

House was rapidly losing patience. "I don't. _You paged me._"

"I did?" Wilson asked, sounding surprised. House said nothing. "Oh, I bet I know what happened! I was testing out this new app on my phone that lets me send pages, and I must have accidentally sent it. I was just testing it out. I just wanted to figure out how to create one. I didn't mean to send it. I'm so sorry, House."

Wilson didn't actually sound all that sorry, but there wasn't much House could do at this point. His date was ruined, he was at work instead of in the comfort of his bed at home, and Wilson was apparently just an idiot. House sighed.

"It's okay. If there's no emergency, I'm coming home now."

"Good idea. I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa when you get here."

"Sounds great." House hung up, then turned around and began making his slow way back to the elevators. His brain was whirling with thoughts. Twice in a row now Wilson had inadvertently interrupted his dates with Erica. If House didn't know better, he would think Wilson was doing it on purpose. He just couldn't figure out what possible reason Wilson had to ruin his dates.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson heard the key in the lock and poured hot water into the waiting mug of powdered cocoa mix. Stirring it with a spoon, he called out to House, "I'm in the kitchen."

House hooked his cane over the doorjamb and limped into the kitchen. Wilson handed him the mug of cocoa and he took it suspiciously. Wilson fixed a mug for himself, and sat down at the kitchen table. House followed suit, keeping his eyes on Wilson over the rim of his mug. The two both set their mugs down to let them cool off, and watched each other. Neither spoke. House began to drum his fingers on the table to the rhythm of "She's A Maniac." Finally, Wilson broke the silence.

"So this thing with Erica...is it getting serious?"

House held himself back from yelling what he wanted to at Wilson. Instead, he calmly said, "It probably will, once we get some uninterrupted time alone."

Wilson nodded. House sighed. Was he going to have to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room? Wilson took a sip from his cocoa, looking for all the world like he was done talking. Apparently House _would_ have to broach the subject.

"Wilson...why do you keep killing my dates?"

Wilson did not even try to protest. He simply sighed and set his mug down again. "If you really want to know, House, it's because I don't think you're ready for this relationship."

House looked up at Wilson, shocked. "What? What do you mean?"

Wilson paused, as if to gather his thoughts. Then he let them go in a swift barrage. "You just got out of a mental institution. You embrace loneliness and misery, and spread them to the people around you. You can't think of anyone but yourself. Your idea of a date is offering a beer to the hooker. You refuse to open up emotionally to anybody. You –"

House had heard plenty, and stalked out of the kitchen rather than let Wilson finish. Wilson, undeterred, called after him. "And you have the maturity of a five year old!"

House stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door.

* * *

Erica called the next day, and House ignored her call. She sent House two e-mails, and both went unread. House brooded for the better part of a week, finally accepting Wilson's attack as just the unfortunate truth. He _did_ spread misery. He didn't want to do that to Erica. She deserved someone better. Someone who would be good with the kids she spent so much time with. Someone who wasn't emotionally stunted. Someone who would actually pick up the phone and break up with her, instead of totally ignoring her.

House had resigned himself to being single again, and was watching t.v. in his boxers, when the doorbell rang. It was Erica, and she looked pissed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I apologize profusely for the short length of chapter 2. It probably set a world record. This one's not much longer, but at least House figures something important out....**

"Why the hell haven't you been returning my calls?" Erica demanded.

House blinked at her, but did not hold the door open enough to allow her entrance. Neither did he reply.

Erica took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "I think I deserve an answer, Greg. I thought things were going well between us. Suddenly you just up and disappear? What's going on?"

House was silent for a second. Finally, he sighed. "You'll find someone else. Someone better than me."

Now Erica was confused. "What? I don't want to find someone else! What are you _talking_ about?"

House looked down, not meeting her eyes. "It's the best thing to do."

Erica gaped at him. House shuffled back and forth a bit, but did not appear to want to converse any more. Determined, Erica pushed past him and the door, and stalked into the condo. House had no choice but to shut the door and join her on the sofa. She looked at him expectantly. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"I don't have a goo history with relationships. I'm going to screw this one up. I'm selfish and I –"

"Oh, don't give me a load of crap about how it's not me, it's you," she interrupted. "You don't get to decide after the second date whether things will work out in the long term. Sure, if you didn't like me and I didn't like you, we wouldn't see each other again. But we _clicked_. What the hell happened a week ago that changed things?"

"I had a talk with – I mean, Wilson, you know, my roommate? He told me I would be dragging you down, that I wasn't ready for a...for this."

Erica gave him a look that could light butter on fire. "What does _he_ know about _your_ relationships? What business is it of his?"

House shrugged. "We've known each other a long time. We've seen each other through some bad relationships. I guess he knows what I'm capable of."

Erica nodded. "So instead of trying to help you overcome whatever shortcomings he thinks you have, he told you to break up with me?"

"Not in so many words...look, I really did have fun with you. But he's right. I'm miserable. I'm not the right kind of person to be in your life. Your life is full of wholesome goodness – volunteering, kids, nice friends. I would be like the grinch."

Erica spoke very slowly. "You don't get to make that decision, and neither does Wilson. Isn't this the same guy that interrupted both of our dates?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Hmmm."

House looked at her with some interest. "'Hmmm' what?"

"Well, it sort of sounds like he might be jealous."

"How can he be? He's barely even met you!"

Erica laughed. "Not of me, you idiot. Of you. Sounds like he wants you for himself and doesn't want you to end up with me in a serious relationship. Think about it."

House did think about it for a moment. "That can't be true. He thinks I'm miserable. He told me so."

"There's a Ruth Ellison poem this reminds me of about jealousy:

I put out my hand and plucked a rose,

A red satin rose with a velvet scent,

And chaliced its loveliness in reverent palms,

Knowing that it was perfect.

Then, because I could not make the rose,

And because I could not paint the rose,

Nor carve it, nor mould it,

Nor even draw its beauty in my words,

I slowly closed my fingers over it

And crushed it.

That's what he's trying to do to you. He can't have you, so he wants to destroy you so nobody else can ether."

"Wilson?" scoffed House. "He's a pussycat."

Erica shrugged. "Okay, fine. But just think about it. Ask him. You know where to find me when you come to your senses."

She got up and let herself out before House could reply. Perturbed, the lines from the poem rang out inside his head. _Because I could not make the rose...I...crushed it_. Was that what Wilson was doing to him? House had never thought Wilson might be interested in him "that way." But it would explain how Wilson had been acting. What if Wilson really _was_ interested? Was House interested in _Wilson_? He had always thought of himself as straight. But women had come and gone, and he couldn't imagine his life without Wilson.

House propped his legs up on the couch and settled back to wait for Wilson to get home.

* * *

Wilson woke House from a nap. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the couch was comfortable, and a week's worth of avoiding Erica had tired him out. He was still snoring when Wilson gently brushed his hand over House's head to wake him up. House flinched awake.

"Hey there, big guy. Didn't mean to scare you," Wilson said softly. "I brought Thai."

House smiled even as his heart continued to race. He did not take well to being awakened by surprises, like the phone ringing or someone touching him. But this was Wilson, and Wilson would never do anything to him. He swung his legs down, grabbed his cane, and followed Wilson to the kitchen.

"We need to talk."

Wilson looked at House in surprise. "Oh?"

"I know what you've been doing."

Wilson began to stammer. "What – what I've been doing? What do you mean?"

House took a deep breath. "Wilson...do you have...feelings for me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Wilson's mouth went dry. House had found him out! But was he asking because he was upset about it, or was he asking because...? He had to ascertain more information before he tried to answer.

"What...what on earth brings that up, House?"

House just stared at Wilson for a moment. "You've been cockblocking me, and I can't figure out why. It would be a logical reason."

Wilson shuffled his feet, staring down. "Sorry about that," he said sincerely. "Didn't mean to cause you problems on your dates."

"The apology is appreciated, but not what I asked. Do you have feelings for me?"

Wilson took a deep breath. It was now or never. Sure, he could chicken out and deny everything, but then what if House _did_ reciprocate? He would never know unless.... "Yes, I do."

House was silent. Wilson walked over to the couch and sat down, alone. He stared down at his feet, but tried to keep an eye on House through his peripheral vision. Silence was not good. He wished House would say _something_.

House stayed seated in the kitchen, poking at one of the Thai takeout boxes. He was trying to think of a way to tell Wilson that he was interested, but he was also interested in Erica. He needed time to sort things out. Every conversation he started in his head ended badly, so he said nothing out loud.

Finally, Wilson could stand it no longer. "Are you surprised?" he blurted out.

House shook his head. "I think I knew what was going on. I'm just surprised you never said anything until now."

Wilson hesitated. "Do you think...you could ever feel the same way...about me?"

"I'm not sure," House admitted. Wilson looked crestfallen. "Wilson...James. I like Erica. I haven't had this much fun with a woman since Stacy left. She _gets_ me, and doesn't put up with my shit. I need to see where this thing will go."

"So that's a no."

"It's not a 'no.' It's an 'I need some time.' And until I am one hundred percent sure, I don't want to break things off with Erica when that might go somewhere good."

Wilson obviously did not think more time was going to make a difference. His expression darkened. "I get it, House. You don't have to lie or let me down easy. Who knew that I wouldn't be able to get a straight answer out of _you_? You revel in telling the truth, just to watch peoples' reactions. What on earth made you stop tonight?" At this, Wilson got up, walked to the door, grabbed his keys, and left. House flinched at the slam of the door. That could have gone better. He wondered if Wilson would be back. Maybe he should move out? How awkward would it be to continue living together? After that conversation, House had no appetite whatsoever, so he put the Thai food into the refrigerator unopened and limped off to bed.

* * *

House showed up at Erica's apartment the next night with a red rose and a teddy bear. He hoped they would be able to pick up where things had been left a week ago. She answered the door, dressed in workout pants and a tank top. Her expression went soft as she took in the teddy bear, rose, and House's chagrined look.

"I take it you talked to Wilson?"

House nodded and handed her the goodies. She took them, then gestured that he should come in. He gratefully made his way to her couch.

"So what was the upshot?" she asked, laying the bear gently on the coffee table.

"You were right. He does have a thing for me."

She nodded. "And?"

"I told him I needed time. He didn't take it well."

"What's he going to do now?"

"I don't know. He didn't come home last night. He avoided me at work. I'm worried, but he's going to have to wait. I wanted to come talk to you, too." This last sentence held a slight question from him.

Erica sighed and sat down next to House. "I forgive you, I guess. But you're going to have to take me out somewhere really nice to make up for it."

House relaxed in relief. "Right now?"

Erica smiled. "Mmmm...right now I think I have other plans for you." She ran her hand seductively up the inside of his leg.

House jumped back, moving himself to the far corner of the couch. Erica instantly removed her hand, confused. When House had regained control of himself, he moved closer to Erica again, apologizing. "Sorry. Just...that's my bad leg."

A look of understanding came over Erica's features. She had never asked about the cane and limp, but of course he must have something wrong with his leg. She inwardly cursed herself for not thinking.

"I'm a moron," she said.

House smiled. "Boy, you remind me of someone I like a lot. Don't worry about it. I've never brought it up before, so how were you supposed to know? Just...be careful."

She nodded. "What's wrong with it?"

House tried not to roll his eyes as he launched into the same explanation he had given dozens of other times. "I had an infarction and they had to remove the dead muscle."

"Did that hurt?"

He nodded. "Still does. But I live with it."

"Don't you take anything for it?"

"Used to take Vicodin, but I became addicted. Once I detoxed it hurt a lot less. Guess it's true – the vicodin really does make you think you're in more pain than you are."

House gently took Erica's hand and placed it this time on his left thigh. "Look, enough talking. Let's get back to what we were doing."

Erica giggled as House waggled his eyebrows.

* * *

House whistled as he unlocked the door to the condo the next morning. He needed a shower and a change of clothes before work – he hadn't planned on things going quite so far as they had with Erica last night. Actually, he hadn't expected her to let him in at all. As he stepped inside, he stopped when he saw Wilson was in the kitchen, surrounded by empty boxes of Thai food. At least someone had gotten some use out of them. _Here we go again_, he thought. _Might as well get this over with_.

"Hey," House said, limping over to the kitchen.

Wilson nodded, but said nothing. House tried to start a non-argumentative conversation.

"Wilson, I –"

"It's okay, House." Wilson looked just as surprised as House that he had cut the sentence off. House had to be sure.

"It is?"

Wilson sighed. "Yes. I overreacted. You have no obligation to feel a certain way, and I should not expect you to. I'm sorry I put you in a bad position. I'll work on that."

"So...you don't want me to move out?" House's eyes were almost vulnerable as he looked into Wilson's for confirmation.

"You move out? _I_ was going to move out."

House laughed. "Wilson, it's your condo!"

Wilson shrugged. "It's what I've done in all my marriages. Why should this relationship be any different?"

House gaped at Wilson. "You would really move out for me?" He had been picturing spending the next month in some seedy hotel while he looked for a new place.

Wilson didn't answer, though. He was back to silence. House knew they should talk some more, work out details, and – heaven forbid – _feelings_, but he didn't want to push it. He was no good at the emotional stuff. Just the conversations that had already taken place in the last several days were more than he was used to. But he had to know one thing:

"Do you really think I'm miserable?"

Wilson's eyes crinkled in confusion at the seemingly out-of-nowhere question. "What?"

"That's what you told me a week ago. That I'm miserable and I spread it to other people. Is that true? Is that what I do? Do I make you miserable?"

The answer was complicated, and Wilson couldn't bring himself to put together that many coherent thoughts. House stared at Wilson, taking in the silence as his answer. Finally, he averted his eyes and nodded, then softly walked to the bathroom to take his shower. The feeling of relief that had started when Wilson had told him that it was okay was now replaced with a tight feeling in his chest. He hoped Wilson might be gone by the time he came out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here's the next installment. WARNING for flashback of child abuse. As for Wilson, this **_**is**_** a House/Wilson fic, so you know they'll end up together eventually! But I'm not done playing with Erica yet. Bear with me.**

Wilson listened to the shower run, kicking himself mentally. Why had he ever said those things to House? Sure, there was a bit of truth to them, but he hadn't meant to outright call House miserable. Ever since their fight last week, Wilson had felt horrible. He had almost forced his best friend to break up with his girlfriend, just because he had been jealous. House, who hadn't been in a happy relationship – or really _any_ relationship – in years. Didn't House deserve some happiness? Wasn't that Wilson's complaint in the first place – that House wasn't happy? Wilson just wished that House could be happy with _him_. But since that, apparently, was a pipe dream, he should at least be supportive of House in the relationship that he _did_ want. Wilson fought off the urge to leave, to give House his space. He knew it would be hard, but they would have to return to their unfinished conversation. He settled in on the couch, stared up at the ceiling, and waited for House to come out.

* * *

Barely paying attention to his shower, House strained to listen for the sounds of Wilson leaving. So far he had heard no door open or close, no keys rattle. He had heard nothing. House threw his head upwards and closed his eyes as the spray pounded down on his face. He really couldn't take another confrontation with Wilson right now.

_Miserable_. He had called him miserable. A memory made its way into House's thoughts, only it wasn't Wilson speaking to him this time. _Miserable bastard! All you do is mope around. You made your mother cry! Why can't you get it together, boy? You may deserve to be miserable, but your mother sure doesn't. Go apologize to her if you know what's good for you. _Breathing heavily, House managed to turn off the spray before getting out of the shower and collapsing onto the toilet seat. He was shaking. He tried to ignore the voice inside his head by staring at the shower curtain, unfocused. Instead of going away, the voice got louder. _GROW UP, BOY! If you can't be mature on your own, I guess I'm going to have to teach you a lesson._ House cringed, reality blending with memory. He could feel hands on him, shame spreading through him. He covered his head with both arms, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He sat alone in the bathroom, quaking, fighting with a ghost.

* * *

Wilson heard the shower turn off, then waited a few minutes. There was no sign of House leaving the bathroom. In fact, he couldn't hear House moving in there at all. Glancing at his watch, he decided to give it another few minutes. He certainly didn't want to interrupt House in any private business he might be conducting. He got up from the couch and began to meander the living room, looking for something to occupy his time. A book on the bookshelf caught his eye, and he went to take it off. It was House's high school yearbook. He remembered Cameron had once mentioned finding it while searching for evidence of what eventually turned out to be House's fake brain cancer. He cracked it open, flipping through the pages until he came across the 12th grade section, then looked for the "H"s. Seeing House's unsmiling face, he wondered if House had _ever_ been happy. Realizing how long it had been since House had finished his shower, he carefully replaced the yearbook and went to knock on the bathroom door.

"House?" he called out. There was no answer. Wilson wasn't sure how to proceed – House had been in there for at least half an hour, and twenty minutes of that had been since he had finished his shower. What was he _doing_ in there? Wilson was struck with a sudden thought. What if he was hurt? Bathrooms were slippery; House could have easily fallen. He could even be unconscious. Wilson had to get in there to make sure House was okay. Steeling himself for House's indignation, Wilson gathered his resolve and slowly opened the door.

At first Wilson saw nothing, his gaze on the vacant shower. Then he noticed House sitting on top of the toilet, hunched over and trembling. Something was _very_ wrong.

"House?" he gently asked. It was as if House hadn't even heard him. "House?" he tried again, a bit louder. Still no answer. He reached a hand out to shake House's shoulder, and it was at that point that House flinched violently away from his touch. House mumbled something that Wilson couldn't make out, even as he was turning away from him.

"House, what's going on?"

There was no answer but House's labored breathing.

"House, talk to me. Is it the leg? Are you in pain?"

House hadn't heard a word of it. He was somewhere else, leaving Wilson to converse with himself.

Wilson couldn't stand this.

He didn't know what was going on, but the only thing that had resulted in any sort of reaction thus far was touch. Knowing what would probably happen, he touched House's shoulder a second time. As expected, House flinched again, this time also whimpering softly. Gritting his teeth, Wilson grabbed one of House's hands and pulled his arm away from its protective position. Underneath the arm, he could see House's eyes looking down. They were filled with fear.

"House!" he cried, still trying to get his attention; snap him out of whatever it was. Yelling only served to do the opposite. House cringed away from Wilson, mumbling again. This time Wilson could barely make out what he was saying.

"...Sorry...sorry...I'll do better...I promise...sorry...."

Taking a deep breath, Wilson tried to ignore the thoughts that were coming to him. He began speaking deliberately softly, as he tried to untangle the large man from himself.

"House, it's just me. It's Wilson. James. I'm not going to hurt you. I need you to sit up. It's just me. Nothing's going to happen. You're not in trouble. You just need to put your arm down."

Wilson had not let go of House's other arm, but at this he dropped it, snaking his own arm all the way around House's back before House snapped his back into position over his head. Wilson tried standing up, pulling House with him. No luck. He was glued to that toilet seat. Now House was shaking so badly that his teeth were audibly chattering. Wilson guessed being held in a forced half-hug was not calming House down, but he didn't know what else to do. He waited with House, helpless, stroking the parts of House's hair that he could get to, not moving his arm from around House's back.

Eventually, House's breathing slowed, and he began to sit up. When House realized that Wilson was attached to him like a koala bear, blue eyes met brown in an unspoken question. Wilson tried to tell House what had happened without really knowing himself.

"House, you were...well, something was going...if I didn't know better, I'd say you were having a flashback."

House paled. He already knew he had experienced a flashback; what he hadn't realized was that Wilson had been here with him. How long had Wilson been watching him? What had he seen and heard? What had he done? The idea of Wilson seeing him like this was too much to bear. He had to get rid of Wilson.

"I'm okay," House feebly insisted.

Wilson did not let go. "It's okay, House. It's over now, whatever it was."

House tried to shake Wilson off by jerking away, but was unsuccessful. "I'm _fine_. Leave me alone. I don't need you here."

Wilson just continued to stroke House's hair as he had been doing for several minutes, not otherwise moving. House could not stand it any longer. "Get the hell _off_ of me, dammit! I'm not one of your needy wives!"

At this, Wilson withdrew, hurt. He was only trying to help; to be a good friend. If House not only wasn't interested in him romantically, but was also rejecting his friendship, then he didn't know what he was doing here. He tried to look into House's eyes for some kind of affirmation, but House would not meet his gaze. Frustrated, Wilson left the bathroom, closing the door loudly behind him.

House flinched when the door slammed, then leaned his long frame against the wall, exhausted. Wilson had come far too close to finding out one of House's darkest, best kept secrets, and House did not like it. He waited until he heard the front door open and close, then shakily got up and went to get dressed. He had to get to work soon, or he would be looking forward to another confrontation with Cuddy. As he was searching for a pair of clean jeans, his phone buzzed from the pocket of the pair he had worn yesterday. He fumbled to retrieve it, then checked the screen. Text message from Erica: _Bowling 2nite?_ House shook his head. Right now all he wanted to do was get back in bed, hide under the covers, and talk to nobody. He knew he had to go to work, but would he really make it through a date with Erica? He didn't want to. But he also couldn't chance saying "no" this early in the relationship. He texted back, _pick u up 7_, then found his jeans, got dressed, and went out to face down his day.

He was still trembling.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Updated 6/15/10 to fix horizontal rule issues.  
**

**As with the previous chapter, content warning for child abuse.**

Work was not going well. All House wanted was to be left alone, and it seemed that all anybody else was doing was bugging him. He couldn't stop himself from exploding at a nurse outside his patient's room after she made the mistake of changing out an IV bag with a fresh one.

"You moron! We were waiting for the bag to finish so we could switch it with saline! We needed to determine whether the effect was psychosomatic. Now we have to wait until _this_ bag is done."

"I'm sorry, Dr. House," the nurse stammered. "I didn't realize you had other plans. You didn't write anything in the chart–"

"Because then the patient would have known, you idiot. How are they letting so many mental incompetents graduate from nursing school, anyway? Get out of here! I think you've done enough damage for one day."

The nurse did leave, but it was not the last of the conversation. Two hours later, Cuddy called House into her office.

"House, I have to write you up," she said, pushing her chair forward into her desk.

House rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"We've had a complaint from one of the nurses. She said you yelled at her and called her names in the middle of the hallway."

House shrugged. "And?"

"You can't treat nurses that way, House."

"Says who?"

"Well for one, the nurses' union. Also I say so, and here's the paperwork to prove it. Sign here indicating we have discussed your behavior and you will not be repeating this type of action."

House normally would have argued, but today he just wanted this conversation to be over with. He signed without even reading the report. "Is that it?"

Cuddy didn't answer, but stared at House instead. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Can I go now?"

Cuddy nodded and waved her hand toward the door. If House didn't want to talk to her, there was nothing she could do. Maybe Wilson could find out what was eating him. She would mention House's foul mood if she saw him.

* * *

Wilson could hear House yelling at his team through the office wall. Although he couldn't make out what he was saying, he could tell House was peeved, and hoped nobody on the team would end up too upset.

Wilson tried to focus on his own work, even though he couldn't quite drown out House's tirade. He was almost happy when he looked up to find Cuddy approaching his desk. At least now he could stop pretending to work.

"Dr. Wilson," she began.

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy?"

She started to say something, but stopped when she heard the noise through the walls. "He's really tearing them a new one today, huh?"

Wilson sighed. "Yeah, it's been a rough morning."

"Oh? Did something happen?"

Wilson peered at Cuddy. Why was she even interested? Where was this conversation going? He decided to be as vague as possible. "We had a...falling out, of sorts. Right before work. I think it put both of us in a bad mood."

"Oh." Well, that did explain House's mood, though there was no excuse for his behavior. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

_Yes! Talk to him! Find out what this morning was all about._ Wilson thought. But he knew House would never open up to Cuddy – he hadn't even opened up to Wilson. "No, I think what he needs the most right now is his space."

Cuddy nodded. "That's reasonable. What about for _you_? What do you need?"

_For House to stop seeing this woman he just met and fall madly in love with me?_ Wilson shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine. This happens all the time." Although this was the first time Wilson could remember House being in such a disturbed state. Images of House with his arms around his head, shaking like a leaf, came to his mind. He just wished he knew what had caused such turmoil for his best friend.

* * *

House drove to the bowling alley in silence. Erica could not figure out why he was in such a bad mood, and kept stealing glances at him as if she might uncover some sort of secret when he wasn't looking. They hadn't known each other very long, and this was the first time he had been anything other than pleasant. House didn't notice at all. He pulled into the parking lot and found a space, awkwardly hobbling around to the passenger side to open Erica's door for her, a habit drilled into him by his mother. Erica found it charming, and smiled brightly at House. If he saw, he said nothing, just closed the door after her and hobbled toward the entrance.

"So how was your day?" she ventured. House looked at her suddenly as if only now realizing he was not alone.

"Fine."

"Oh, okay. I was just wondering because you seem like you might be in a bit of a funk."

House really did not want to go into any of the previous 12 hours with Erica. He told her the first thing that came to his mind: "Wilson and I had a fight this morning." It was partially true.

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Not about me, I hope?"

"No, no, definitely not about you. About me, actually." Then House clammed up. He was done thinking about this entire subject. He wanted to put it out of his mind. As if psychic, Erica smiled a little and snaked her arm around his waist.

"Well, I know what will cheer you up. Show me what this old stud can do with a bowling ball. I'm sure you can knock down my pins, if you know what I mean."

He smiled some too. "_Old_ stud? I've got a great technique for putting my fingers in the holes, if you know what _I_ mean."

She laughed. "Buy me a beer, wise guy."

House knew Erica was just joking, trying to keep the mood light, but all he could hear was his father's voice ringing through his head. _When are you going to learn to stop being a wise guy? Stop running that big mouth of yours?_ House limped to the concessions counter without looking back at Erica. "Two Heinekens," he muttered at the cashier. He took them without thanking the man, threw a ten onto the counter, and hobbled over to Erica, who had claimed a lane.

"I went ahead and rented it for two games," she said, reaching for the beers.

He nodded. "Need shoes," he said shortly, turning around again.

"I thought you told me you were a bowler?" Erica asked accusingly. He was, but in all the chaos that morning, it had totally slipped his mind to throw his bowling bag into the car.

"I forgot," he grumbled, and took off toward the shoe rental. Erica stared after him, wondering if it was something she had said.

* * *

House's mood did not improve as the night wore on. If anything, every word they exchanged seemed to make him grumpier. He sat and watched Erica carefully bowl a strike, almost relieved for the thirty seconds of silent alone time as she concentrated. Then he got up without even a glance in her direction. He grabbed hold of the alley ball that he had chosen, wishing for the thousandth time that he had remember his own. His form was good, but his focus was not on the ball or the pins – his thoughts were completely scattered. He knocked out two pins, then rolled a gutter ball. Erica laughed.

"Guess tonight's not your night, babe. You're about to get beaten by a girl." She smiled as she picked up her ball, brushing against House as they crossed paths. He flinched. Inside his head, pounding as loud as any techno music, was that voice again. _What a sissy. Real men don't play piano. Real men don't read that crap you're always reading instead of playing football. You know what? On second thought, it's a good thing you _don't_ play football. You'd probably get beat by a girl._

House eased himself down into the chair, ignoring whatever Erica was doing in the lane. He cradled his head in his right hand, trying to quiet his thoughts. The voice was getting stronger and louder, and House was terrified that he was about to have a repeat of the morning's spectacle, only this time in front of Erica. He had to put and end to this night, and quickly.

Erica came back over to House. "Your turn," she said cheerily.

House grabbed his jacket. "I'm going home."

Confused, Erica looked at her watch. "It's only 8:30. We're in the middle of a game."

"I'm going home," House repeated. "You coming or not?"

"Well, you're my ride –"

"Then let's go."

Erica held her tongue, realizing that whatever she asked, she would not get a straight answer – or likely any answer. She couldn't stop thinking through the drive home. What had she done wrong? Was House this much of a sore loser? Maybe she shouldn't have teased him. Or had he realized he was late for another appointment? What could he possibly need to do at 8:30 at night? Or did he just suddenly realize that he had no desire to be with her? Erica was a confident woman, but she found her nerves a bit shaken by this behavior. In the little time she had known House, he had put her through an awful lot of crap. She hoped this would be a one-time mishap. If he kept pulling this odd behavior, she was not going to let him push her around much farther.

They pulled up in front of her condo, and she got out, this time without House's help with the door. He was beyond distracted – he was almost in another world. She tentatively asked, "I'll see you next time?"

House nodded, staring straight ahead through the windshield. His eyes never met hers. She softly closed the door, then walked up to her door. House didn't wait to see her safely inside, just sped away. She found her key in the poor light and let herself in, shaking her head. He had definitely better change _something_, or she was through. She had thought this was a relationship that might go somewhere – their personalities were so compatible – but she had made that decision before seeing _this_ side of House's personality. The dark, brooding House was not one she enjoyed being around.

* * *

House finally pulled into the parking garage of his own condo. He had left things unresolved with Wilson that morning, and he was completely drained of energy. He could not have an argument, or discussion, or gab-fest with Wilson tonight. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to casually say hi to Wilson at this point. He did not want to go up there at all. Maybe if he waited in the car long enough, he could sneak in after Wilson fell asleep.

He moved the driver's seat back and lowered the seat back to a reclined position. Thinking he would just rest his eyes, he took off his jacket and draped it over himself as a blanket. As his thoughts became more and more murky, he realized he was drifting off to sleep. The last thought he had before exhaustion completely took over was that this reminded him of the few times his father had locked him out of the house all night. Sure, it had been cold and dirty, but he was left alone all night long, and he loved that. It had been far too long since he had been allowed to be alone, and right now, locking himself in this car, keeping away from everyone else, he felt safer than he had in a long while.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

**Updated 6/15/10 to fix horizontal rule issues.  
**

House woke up with a throbbing in his leg. Grunting, he took in his surroundings and realized he had fallen asleep in the car. His leg was squeezed into the space between his seat and the steering wheel, and his knee stuck out onto the passenger seat. He slowly brought his wrist up to eye level. 7:00 AM? He had slept in the car all night. Slowly, he raised the seat back to the upright position, opened the door, and eased himself around to the side. He had to go up to the apartment for at least a shower. Sighing, he hoped his original plan of avoiding Wilson would still work. He grabbed his cane, levered himself up and out of the car, and slammed the door shut.

Immediately, his leg began to wobble. He leaned against the side of the car, gasping. He had slept in a bad position, and now he was paying the price. But he couldn't stay here in the garage forever. He rubbed his right thigh for a few minutes with his left hand, then tried walking. It hurt, but he was moving. He gritted his teeth as he slowly made his way to the elevator. When he reached it, he all but collapsed into it, jabbing at the button frenetically.

On his floor, he attempted to limp quietly to their front door, softly turning the key. He swung the door open slowly, trying to avoid any creaking. Peering inside, he didn't immediately see Wilson in the living room or kitchen. Relieved, he shuffled his way into the bathroom and closed the door. At this point it didn't matter whether he made noise or not, because Wilson wouldn't walk in on him in the shower. He ran the water hot, relaxing into it. He felt his leg pain lessen a bit, though the leg was still more tense than it normally felt. He finally soaped himself up, rinsed, then reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. Unlike yesterday, he was completely aware of his surroundings, and he listened for any sign of Wilson moving around in the kitchen. He heard nothing.

Thinking it was safe to exit the bathroom, he did so, looking furtively around. It looked as if Wilson may not even be home. What a stroke of luck! House poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat around in nothing but his towel, chewing thoughtfully. He knew he would have to talk to Wilson at some point. He knew Wilson had no idea what had happened yesterday, and the way he had spoken to Wilson had been unfair. Any other person would immediately apologize to Wilson. House knew he should, but wasn't sure how to go about it. He would have to figure it out soon, though. Not only did they need to resolve this fight, but Wilson had outright told him that he had feelings for House. House knew he needed to make some sort of decision, and that if that decision didn't favor Wilson, it would only be fair to cut him loose.

* * *

Wilson fidgeted at his desk, pushing his mound of paperwork aside. He had left the condo super early in order to avoid a run-in with House, and now he was regretting missing that last hour of sleep. To his knowledge, House had been out all night with Erica. Wilson assumed things must be getting serious, because this was the second night in a row House had stayed over with Erica. Things must be going well for House to all but move in with her. The only interactions between House and Wilson during the last two days had been arguments and panic attacks. Wilson was starting to think this thing with House would be a losing battle. The thought made him even more exhausted, and he grabbed his mug, intending to procure some coffee from the Oncology lounge.

When he got there, the coffee pot was empty and starting to burn a little on the bottom. He sighed, rinsed it out, and set the machine up to brew a fresh pot. As he worked, he did not notice a pair of blue eyes watching him from the couch in the lounge. A voice cleared its throat, startling Wilson. He turned around to confront the intruder, but saw it was only House.

"House, you scared me!" he cried, shoving the coffee filter into the machine. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Didn't mean to," House replied softly. He then looked away, as if suddenly interested in the cracks in the faux leather couch. Wilson watched curiously for a moment, then turned the machine on. As the smell of fresh coffee began to fill the room, Wilson wandered cautiously over to the couch.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?" he asked, trying to get House to meet his eyes. House just gestured to the cushion beside him, as if to say, _go for it_. Wilson sat, and the two men were again thrust into awkward silence. Finally, it was House who could no longer stand the tension.

"Wilson, I...I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did yesterday morning. You were just trying to...help, and I treated you like shit. I'm sorry." At this House finally met Wilson's eyes, hoping that it wasn't too little, too late. Wilson smiled.

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard you apologize to me, House."

House looked away again. Wilson worried that he'd gone too far. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything; just taken the apology and changed the subject. But as long as things were awkward anyway–

"House...you don't have to tell me what that was all about yesterday if you don't feel comfortable talking about it. But...you also don't have to be alone with it if you don't want to. I'll listen any time you want to talk."

House was so quiet that Wilson wasn't sure whether he had heard, or was ignoring him, or was taking a while to think of a comeback. Finally, House met Wilson's eyes for the second time, and gave Wilson a brief nod. Then he hung his head, as if afraid that if he held on to that moment, he would somehow destroy it.

Wilson could not leave the conversation alone until he was sure that things were fixed. "So are we...okay?"

"We're okay," House replied quietly.

Wilson nodded. "Okay. And...congratulations, by the way. Looks like you've found a good thing with Erica. I'm happy for you." Wilson got up and left before House could reply, because he really could not stand to talk about the subject for very long. Anything further said would destroy his good wishes and probably start another fight.

House watched Wilson leave, confused. First Wilson was interested in him, now he was encouraging a relationship with Erica? Had Wilson lost interest in him? Or had he simply been lying in the first place when he told House he wanted a relationship? Maybe House was too high-maintenance for Wilson. Even though he was needy, he did not make the best partner – he was snarky, never did chores, kept odd hours, and had trouble expressing his feelings. House really didn't blame Wilson for giving up on the idea. He might have done the same thing if their positions had been switched. So why had he felt so empty when Wilson congratulated him?

* * *

"I had a brain fart," he told Erica sheepishly, this time holding a full bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. She stared at House before finally taking the flowers.

"If this keeps up, next time you're going to have to get me an entire rose bush," she joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Relieved, House took that as an invitation to enter her apartment, and closed the door gently behind him.

"They're Godiva," he said, handing over the box of chocolate. She nodded, setting the box down on the coffee table. House noticed that the teddy bear was still there. Maybe he needed to rethink his apology gifts. She didn't appear interested in stuffed animals, candy, or flowers. Might as well give her the big apology and get it over with.

"I acted like an ass last night, and I owe you an apology."

Erica nodded, raising one eyebrow. House realized what she was waiting for.

"So...I'm sorry. I should have told you what was going on, instead of demanding that you leave."

"Uh huh. And...what was going on, exactly?"

House sighed. He really didn't want to go there. He gingerly sat down on the couch and stared at his hands, resting his cane against his left leg.

"I basically acted like a bad sport because...it wasn't the fact that you were winning. It was something you said. It reminded me of something else that was said to me once, by someone I'd rather not think about. Actually, it brought back a whole flood of memories, and I got overwhelmed. It had nothing to do with you, and I didn't mean to take it out on you." At this last, he looked at Erica, feeling extremely vulnerable. He hoped she would take his apology and explanation at face value and not push him. He had gone farther than he even thought he could.

Erica looked into his blue eyes and saw what House wasn't saying. She could tell he was telling the truth, because he looked about ready to bolt.

"Okay," she said. She grabbed his hand, and he looked at her in surprise. "I can get past this if you promise to figure out a way to deal with your feelings that doesn't involve yelling at me. Whatever feelings they may be."

House squeezed her hand. "I was going to call my therapist tomorrow anyway. It's been a rough couple of days. I'll ask him for help not needlessly traumatizing you with my jerky behavior."

She inched closer to him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You have a therapist?"

"Yeah, I was locked up in the loony bin last summer. Went off the deep end," he said flippantly, hoping that if he made light of it, the fact that he had been institutionalized wouldn't scare her away. Instead of getting up and running screaming from the room, she snuggled closer, wrapping one arm around his back and the other across his chest. House pushed the hair away from her eyes, then began tracing her ear with his hand.

"You know, I hear the crazies have the best sex," he ventured.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, the more insane, the better!" House grinned.

"Well, you've got to introduce me to some of your crazy friends, then. But in the meantime, I guess I'm stuck with you!" She stuck her tongue out at House.

House grinned wider and leaned in for a kiss.

Later, lying in her bed, both spent, House reflected on how lucky he really was. He had found the perfect woman who forgave him but set boundaries to what she would and would not put up with from him. She was smart, sexy, and compassionate. She had a sense of humor, and she didn't push him to open up and share past the minimum requirements.

So why did he still feel empty?


	8. Chapter 8

"I met a woman," House told Nolan.

Nolan simply raised his eyebrows and gestured at House, as if to say, _Go on and tell me about her_.

House sighed. He didn't know where to start. His eyes wandered around the room for something to distract him.

"If you're looking to change the subject, you've just about exhausted all of my knick-knacks and photos," Nolan piped up.

House sighed again. He was stuck; either start talking about Erica, or wait Nolan out for the next forty-five minutes. He knew from experience that Nolan was perfectly willing and able to sit in silence, waiting...eternally. He might as well get this over with.

"Her name's Erica. She doesn't put up with my crap...which I think is why I like her."

"So you like her."

"I just said that, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry. Go on." Nolan steepled his fingers together and looked at House.

"I...keep doing things to piss her off."

At this, Nolan leaned forward, intrigued. "Things like what?"

House scratched his stubbly cheek. "Two nights ago I forced her to go home when we were in the middle of bowling. I was losing."

"Is that significant?"

House shrugged. "It probably wouldn't have been as big of a deal if I had been winning."

"So why did you make her leave?"

House was silent. Nolan tried again.

"You implied that this was a big deal. So why cause a problem, for no reason, with a woman you're trying to impress? What made you want to leave? Was it something she said?"

Finally, House nodded.

"Yes? It was something she said?"

House nodded again.

Nolan patiently kept prodding. "What was it that she said that upset you?"

"She said...I was getting beat by a girl."

Nolan said nothing, only looked at House intently, listening.

"It just...reminded me of stuff my dad used to say."

Nolan nodded. "Do you think she meant it the same way he meant it?"

House had not even considered that possibility. "No, of course not. It just...threw me off."

"It upset you."

"Yeah."

"Enough to cut your date short and risk pissing off this woman."

House stared at his shoes. "That wasn't my intention."

Nolan laughed. "What did you think was going to happen, exactly?"

"I wasn't thinking at all. I just wanted – I didn't want to –"

Nolan waited patiently.

"I didn't want to freak out in front of her."

"Freak out?" Nolan queried, eyebrows raised.

"I...had a...I freaked out in front of Wilson. That morning, actually. I could feel it happening again. Leaving was the only way I could think of to stop it from coming on." House was suddenly struck by the feeling that he didn't actually want to discuss this at all. He was wishing now that he hadn't brought up the subject. But Nolan was like a dog with a bone, and House knew they would not drop it until all of the details had been fleshed out.

"So you acted like a jerk instead, then went home to 'freak out' alone?"

"No," was all House could manage.

"No to which part?"

"No, I didn't go home."

"Oh?"

"I slept in the car."

"Because...?"

"I just didn't want to talk to Wilson at that time."

"Because of the 'freak out.'"

House nodded.

"And what exactly happened there? Could you be more specific?"

House fiddled with his cane, bouncing it lightly on the floor.

"House? What happened that morning with Wilson?"

"We had an argument."

"About what?"

House continued to bounce the cane, staring at the floor. Nolan waited. Finally, House broke.

"He appeared to be trying to come between between Erica and I. I had confronted him about it. He admitted he had overreacted. But then he told me that he thought I spread misery everywhere; I disagreed. End of story."

"And then you 'freaked out?' Can you describe that for me?"

House threw his head back, exasperated. "I had a flashback, okay?"

"Ah."

"Ah? That's all you have to say? It was in the _shower_."

"And Wilson was in the shower with you?" Nolan asked innocently.

"No, he came in to find out what was wrong. Basically saw the whole thing."

"Okay. And then what?"

"Then what what? I told him to get away from me and we haven't spoken since."

"I see. Were you upset about what he had said about you, or were you upset because he was interfering in your relationship with Erica?"

House was silent.

"Why do you think Wilson was trying to split you and Erica apart?"

House didn't answer, suddenly appearing interested in picking a thread off of the hem of his t-shirt.

"Do you think Wilson might have acted that way because he was jealous?"

House didn't look up, but he finally answered. "He told me he was jealous."

"And how did that make you feel?"

House rolled the thread up with his fingers, appearing to ignore Nolan.

"Were you embarrassed?"

House made the slightest movement with his head.

"You were embarrassed that Wilson saw you in the shower, or that he saw you having a flashback?"

"Both."

"Has he ever seen you have one before?"

House shook his head. "He doesn't know anything about...." House trailed off, gesticulating.

"About what? About your flashbacks? About your past? About our therapy sessions?"

"Yeah, those."

"Wilson doesn't know you go to therapy." Nolan's tone was dubious.

"Well, yeah, he knows that," House said, picking up a glass paperweight from Nolan's coffee table. "He just doesn't know what we talk about."

Nolan nodded. "I see. And why is that?"

"Because I don't tell him."

"And again, why is that?"

House caressed the paperweight, rubbing the smooth glass. "It's none of his business."

"You live with him. Are you sure?"

"Completely."

"We may want to revisit this subject later, when you've had a chance to process our conversation."

"Don't think so."

"You feel sure now, but Wilson could be a valuable asset to your therapeutic process. You need a friend; someone to confide in. You need –"

"I confide in you. That's plenty."

"Wilson could be someone you don't pay to listen. Someone who is there of his own volition."

House squeezed his hand into a fist, clenching the paperweight. "I'm not talking about this any more."

"I know it was uncomfortable for you, too, but Wilson just helped you through what had to be a very scary event for him. You're saying he doesn't deserve to know what was really going on?"

The paperweight flew out of House's hand before his mind could process his action. It shattered against the far wall, and House's self control shattered with it.

"No, he doesn't deserve to know a damn thing! I already told you it's none of his business. Every other piece of information I've told him about this shit has ended up being my fault, and I just can't go through that _again_ with him."

Nolan sat quietly, almost peacefully. He didn't even spare a glance at the broken glass littering the floor. "What have you already told him, House?" he asked gently.

The gentle tone did nothing to calm House down. "I told him I didn't want to meet my dad for dinner...and he set up a dinner date for us, because according to him I was being childish. I told him I didn't want to go to the funeral, and he took me there himself to ensure that I made it, because left to my own devices I'm such an ingrate. He _never_ gave any indication that he was interested in why I might not want to do those things."

"So it sounds like Wilson may have some issues respecting your boundaries in this area," suggested Nolan.

House looked up, surprised. "He – uh, yeah. He does." He couldn't keep a note of wonder from appearing in his voice. "Most people take his side."

"It's not about sides, House. It's about dealing with the actions he has taken that may have been hurtful to you, in such a way as to not lose a good friend."

House glanced back at the shattered glass. "What should I do?"

"Maybe we can look into some possible ways of discussing your feelings about this with Wilson next time. Our time's up."

House looked at his watch, surprised. They had been there for an hour. He levered himself up with his cane and stepped gingerly over to the door, avoiding the glass. "Sorry about your paperweight," he mumbled.

"Accidents happen. I've seen worse. Did it make you feel any better?"

"No," House whispered.

"Maybe you'll keep that in mind for the next time. House, I'm going to give you a homework assignment."

House paused at the door. "I told you I'm not talking about this with him."

"I want you to cook dinner for both Wilson and Erica. Introduce them to each other."

"They've met."

"In a casual, non-threatening environment?"

House thought back to Wilson interrupting their first date together. "Uh...no. Not exactly."

"I thought not. Your homework is to make this dinner enjoyable for both of them, and give them a chance to get to know each other."

"What is the point of this?"

"Twofold. First, you need to make it clear for Wilson that Erica is in your life now, and that's another boundary he will need to respect. Second, if you want this relationship to last, you need to actually let Erica into your life. Wilson is a huge part of your life. You can't keep those two areas of your life separate for very long."

"Are you sure? I don't think they like each other very much."

"I'm sure. Will you do that this week?"

House sighed. "I'll do what I can. How do I prove that I've done it?"

"Just letting me know what happened will be fine. See you next week, House."

House brushed out the door, trying to ignore the sound of glass crunching underneath his left foot.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So sorry that it's taken me so long to update. The end of the school year was incredibly busy, plus there were some unexpected life situations. I should take less than a month to get the next chapter up, I promise! Anyway, here's the dinner...**

House minced onions with what he thought was great skill. Erica would be over in twenty minutes, and he wanted to make sure that nothing went wrong with dinner, so that he could focus on getting Erica and Wilson to talk.

He almost chuckled to himself. When had House become the peacemaker, the relationship counselor? Getting Wilson and Erica to become friends seemed necessary, but not something House felt all that qualified to do. It didn't matter, though – he had no choice. He tossed the onions into the frying pan, shaking his head.

Wilson wandered into the kitchen, smelling the hot oil. "Anything I can do to help?"

House nodded to the chicken breasts on the counter. "You can cut those into bite sized pieces and throw them right in with the onions."

Wilson nodded and got to work. Although House had "invited" him to dinner (in his own condo!), they had not really spoken since House's apology. Wilson really had no interest in having dinner with Erica, but realized that it might go a long way toward repairing his relationship with House. At this point he was willing to do just about anything to pretend that the last two weeks hadn't happened.

House reached around Wilson to add bell peppers and garlic to the pan, then began to put tortillas into a basket lined with a cloth napkin.

"Well aren't we getting fancy tonight, House?" Wilson teased.

House smiled. "You think it looks alright?"

"I think it looks great," Wilson assured as he dumped the chicken into the pan. Just then the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," House offered. "You'd better wash your hands."

Wilson went over to the sink as House left to let Erica in. "Thank you for coming. Can I take your jacket?" he offered politely.

Erica smiled and allowed House to help her out of her jacket. "Hey hey, good looking – whatcha got cooking? Smells good."

House grinned at the reference to the old song, then waved her into the kitchen. "Fajitas. Thought I'd do a little Mexican tonight. And I made them chicken, in case anyone is concerned about healthy eating," he added, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips. "Not that anyone needs to be..."

Erica grinned and grabbed House by the collar, forcing him back to her mouth. For about thirty seconds she ravaged him, and he eagerly participated, only drawing away when he noticed Wilson watching them.

"Just thought I'd let you know that I turned the heat off. The chicken's cooked. I think dinner's ready." Wilson couldn't help but feel very awkward. It seemed that whenever he was in the same room as Erica, he was interrupting something.

"Great, I'm starving!" Erica said casually, breaking the tension.

House chuckled nervously and walked into the kitchen. "Wilson, meet Erica. Erica, this is Wilson."

Both Erica and Wilson rolled their eyes, but dutifully followed House into the kitchen. The two sat and watched as House bumbled around looking for plates, cheese, serving utensils, and glasses. Finally everyone was served, and the three relaxed around the table, enjoying the fruits of House's labor.

"This is great, Greg," said Erica between bites. "It's so nice to find a man who isn't afraid to cook."

House smiled. "I cook all the time. I even took a cooking class once," he bragged.

Wilson rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. "So Erica, I'm just curious: what was your first impression of House when you met him at speed dating?"

Erica laughed. "I have to admit that I didn't listen to a word he said. I spent the whole time staring into those blue eyes. I think when I filled out the card I was under the impression that he was a hobo or porn producer or something...he did mention that he played music, though. I thought that was exciting."

"Yeah, he does have gorgeous eyes, doesn't he?" Wilson teased.

House blushed as two sets of eyes stared into his own.

"The view when he walked away wasn't bad either," Erica added. House turned a deeper shade of red.

Wilson smiled. "I bet the view was even better when you got those pants off of him."

House had heard enough. He quickly rose, awkwardly spilling his water in the process. "Who wants desert?" he squeaked out.

Erica thought House was the cutest thing in the world when he was embarrassed, and couldn't help teasing a tiny bit more. "I think we could both use a little something...if you know what I mean."

House's face was completely red, and even his ears had turned the color of salmon. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the key lime pie that he had made earlier, set it down on the table in front of Erica and Wilson, and hurriedly turned back around to look for a knife. He had anticipated trouble when he invited Erica and Wilson to dinner together, but never in his wildest dreams had he predicted _this_. He served the pie, then sat back and almost relaxed as Wilson and Erica began talking to each other in earnest. It seemed that they had more in common than either realized, and they truly enjoyed each others' company. House was able to get away with saying almost nothing, which gave him time to watch his companions.

Erica had a great smile, and was able to get along with other people easily. He marveled at that, because it was something he could never do. He grinned right along as Erica told a dirty joke, catching the twinkle in her eye. He was going to have to do whatever it took to make this work – because he didn't think another chance like this would come along.

Time passed quickly, and the conversation began to wind down. House started to clear off the table, surprised when Wilson jumped up to help.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Wilson shrugged. "It's my kitchen, too. Don't want to find dirty dishes in the oven tomorrow." Looking back over his shoulder at Erica, he called out, "Remind me to tell you that story one day."

Erica smiled, and brought her own dishes over. "Thank you both for having me over. This was a very enjoyable evening."

House finished rinsing the glass he was holding and stuck it in the dishwater. "I'll walk you out," he offered. The two left Wilson and wandered through the living room.

"I really did have a great time tonight. This was a great idea!"

"Hmmm. Glad you did, but I can't take all the credit – it was actually my therapist who suggested it. You know, clear the waters, get to know everybody, that sort of thing."

"I think it worked. I actually like Wilson. I see why you do, too." She looked over House's shoulder into the kitchen. "Do we have time for a goodnight kiss?"

House grinned. "Just a quick one. Then I have to go help Wilson, or I'll find my cane sawed in half tomorrow. Remind me to tell you about _that_ story," he said, as he leaned in for the kiss. True to his word, it was a quick one, and when they were through, House held the door open for her.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

She nodded as she left, and House gently shut the door and returned to the kitchen. Wilson had already loaded the dishwasher and was drying his hands.

"So what did _you_ think about dinner, Wilson?"

Wilson sighed. "I hate to admit it, but I actually had fun. I see what you see in her, House. You're a lucky man."

"Hey, don't go getting any ideas about my woman, there."

Wilson laughed. "Don't worry. I have my sights set on...other goals." He let his hand caress House's arm as he walked by, looking one more time into those deep blue eyes.

House watched Wilson as he left for his bedroom, feeling the tingle of his touch long after Wilson's door had closed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Fluff alert! Sorry about that. As we all know, I'm a big fan of angst and drama, and I don't really do fluff...but this is necessary fluff, and it gets House and Wilson spending some time together again. Updated 6/15/10 to fix horizontal rule issues.  
**

House woke up the next morning and immediately pulled the covers over his head to block out the sun shining in. He was glad it was Saturday, and he didn't have to go to work...or get out of bed at all. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. He almost made it.

"House?" Wilson whispered from the doorway. "Are you asleep?"

House cracked one eye open. "Yes."

Wilson took the response as an invitation to come into House's room, and he walked up to the bed. House suddenly remembered Wilson's touch the night before, and tensed up. Wilson didn't try to touch him at all; only there, apparently, to ascertain House's plans for the day.

"What are you up to today?"

House truly had no idea. "Uhh..."

"Because I was thinking of driving to New York and spending the day there. Did you want to come?"

Normally, House would have jumped at the chance to go. He always loved to stop by Bleecker Street Records, and was occasionally able to convince Wilson to go to FAO Schwartz. Today, though, he didn't want to get out of bed yet. He was also a little nervous about spending any time with Wilson. If last night was any indication, Wilson had obviously decided to take a no holds barred approach to showing his feelings for House. House didn't want to find out what his own reaction would be if Wilson touched him like _that_ again. He thought there was a good chance he might grope Wilson right back, and that would not be good.

"No, that's okay. You go ahead. I think I'm just gonna relax today."

Wilson nodded. "I understand. You get some rest; I'll see you tonight. Is there anything you want me to pick up for you?"

House thought about it. "Bagels. Sliced. With a freezer bag."

"But of course," Wilson said with a grin. "Okay, I shall return with tomorrow's breakfast. Wish me luck!"

"Make sure you get some 'everything' bagels!" House called without moving. "If you forget, I'll send you all the way back over there."

Wilson just laughed as he left House alone to sleep. House lay in bed for a few more minutes, but soon realized he was not tired enough to go back to sleep. Cursing, he sat up and swung his legs carefully out of bed. If he took a shower and got dressed, it would be almost ten o'clock. He had told Erica he would call her today, but maybe he would just show up and surprise her instead. The more he thought about his plan, the more he liked it. He limped over to the bathroom and started running the water.

* * *

House rang the doorbell and waited to Erica to answer. He thought he heard strange noises coming from her apartment – it sounded almost like a girl shrieking. Intrigued, he pressed the doorbell again. A harried looking Erica finally answered.

"Oh my goodness, you're a life saver!" she exclaimed.

House looked at her in confusion.

"Come in, come in. I've got the kids over today – all five of them."

Ah. House did not really want to interact with Erica's "Little Brother/Little Sister" foster kids, or whatever they were. He didn't do kids. He would probably end up tossing one out the window just to check whether gravity still worked. He started thinking of excuses to leave.

"Sit down, Greg." Erica pushed House onto the sofa. There were two girls who looked about seven and ten years old playing with a Barbie doll on the floor behind the sofa – was one of them the shrieker he had heard from the hallway?

"I have a huge favor to ask you."

Uh oh.

"Can you watch the kids for a few hours? I just got a call from work, and I need to go in today. It's an emergency, otherwise I would have told them no."

House watched one of the girls pop Barbie's head off, and wondered where the other three kids were. No way was he going to get stuck with five kids!

"So what's the problem? Take the kids back where you go them from."

Girl number two began crying as girl number one swung Barbie's head by the hair and threw it across the room. Erica got up to intervene. Grabbing the head and handing it to girl number two, she turned to girl number one and admonished, "Portia, what have we said about breaking Jeanine's dolls?"

Portia rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Jeanine. Here, gimme. I'll fix it. Don't cry."

Erica plopped back down onto the couch. "I can't bring them back home because there's nobody there right now. Foster dad's away on business, and mom's at her appointment at the spa. She's had this appointment for two months. She'll be at least another two hours. She only goes once a year. Heaven knows she needs the break."

"Okay...then bring them to work with you."

"I can't! I work in Philly; I'm not allowed to take them across state lines without permission from the state."

"Well you can't leave them with me, either! I haven't passed any kind of background check. I could be a psychopath or a pedophile for all you and the state know."

"You're a doctor. You deal with children every day. I would trust them with you if we were at the hospital, so there's no reason I should worry here. Just think of it as a very long house call. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, if anybody asks."

House was at a loss. This was not looking good for him. He could say no and run away, but he had a feeling Erica might never speak to him again if he did that. He sighed. "Let me call Wilson and see if he can come help." At a ratio of five kids to one of him, he didn't like the odds.

Erica looked relieved. "That's a great idea! Backup is good."

House took out his phone and dialed Wilson.

"House?"

"Wilson. Where are you? I need you to come back to Jersey."

"Why?"

House sighed, knowing Wilson would not be happy that he was hanging out with Erica when he said he wasn't going anywhere. "I'm at Erica's place, and she's watching a bunch of kids. She has to leave, and I need you to help me with the kids."

There was a brief moment of silence from the other end of the phone. "I thought you were staying home today?" Wilson asked accusingly.

House fibbed. "I was, but then Erica called me over here..." He looked pointedly at Erica, hoping she would get the message. She nodded. She would corroborate his story with Wilson if need be.

Wilson spoke up. "Okay, I'll be there. I'm about 45 minutes out, so I guess that's how long it will take me to get there. Give me her address."

House put Erica on the phone so she could give Wilson directions. As she was wrapping up the call, he saw another kid leave Erica's bedroom. He looked about five – at least, House thought it was a he. He was completely covered in makeup.

"Oh, shit," Erica muttered as she hung up the phone. "House, this beautiful guy is Benjamin. Benjie, did Katie use all the makeup on you?"

Benjie shook his head no. "She used some on herself, too."

Erica sighed and walked into the bedroom. House followed with trepidation. Sure enough, there was a girl no taller than Benjie, also covered. "This is Katie, and she's six. Kids, this is Mr. Greg. He's going to be playing with you for a while. Come say hi."

"Hi," said Benjie quietly.

"Hi Mr. Greg!" exclaimed Katie.

Erica pointed to the corner of the bedroom, behind the nightstand, where the fifth kid was wedged. He had a notepad in his hand, and he was writing something in it. "That's Alex. He's thirteen, and he doesn't talk much."

Erica left the three to their own devices in the bedroom. "Portia, Jeanine. Come meet Mr. Greg."

Portia and Jeanine abandoned their Barbie and dutifully walked over. The both looked up at House, who seemed very tall to them.

"Portia and Jeanine are sisters; none of the other kids are related."

House nodded, barely remembering names, much less who was related to whom.

"Come on, we've got to get Benjie and Katie cleaned up. You grab him, I'll grab her."

House was already getting tired just walking back and forth between the bedroom and the living room. He again followed Erica, and, tentatively reaching his arms out, gently picked up Benjie. To his surprise, Benjie was fairly light and easy to carry. "Wheeeee," said Benjie.

"Wheee," agreed House. He brought Benjie into the bathroom, where Erica was already working on Katie. House put Benjie right up on the counter.

"Here, use this," she said, passing House a jar of cold cream. He dipped his finger in it and rubbed some on Benjie's face. Grabbing a washcloth, he wet it, then wiped the gook off of Benjie. To his surprise, the makeup came right off with it. This kid stuff might be easier than he thought.

"You got him? Good, I'm going to grab my stuff."

Before he could blink, Erica and Katie were gone from the bathroom. House finished cleaning off Benjie, took him back down, then went to find Erica. She was already at the door, briefcase in hand.

"Thank you so much, Greg. I called their mom, so she knows. She's going to pick them up here as soon as she's done. I'll call you later on to check in. Oh! And they're going to need lunch pretty soon. Talk to you later!"

With that, Erica was gone, and House found himself completely alone with five kids.

"Benjie, don't touch Barbie!" a girl's voice yelled. "You'll get boy cooties on her."

House looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. When the hell was Wilson going to get there?

* * *

The doorbell rang, and House looked up from the Disney Channel. Must be Wilson. He levered himself off of the couch and went to answer the door. He noticed he had a tiny, three feet tall shadow.

"Benjie, what should we do before we answer the door?" he asked.

Benjie looked up at House. "Check to make sure it's not somebody bad," he answered.

"Good boy!" exclaimed House. He reached down to pick Benjie up, and Benjie climbed right into his arms as if he'd known House all his life. House held Benjie up to the peep hole.

"Who do you see?"

"Some man."

"Oh? What does he look like?"

Benjie shrugged. "Like a man."

House shifted Benjie to his hip and looked himself. Yep, Wilson. He opened the door and gestured at Wilson to follow him to the couch. "We're watching a Hannah Montana marathon."

Wilson looked around. House had a boy in his arms, and there were two girls on the floor in front of the couch, eyes glued to the t.v. There was one younger looking girl on the couch with her legs curled up underneath her, who appeared to be watching the girls on the floor more than the t.v. House sat down and plopped Benjie onto his left leg.

"Horsie?" Benjie asked. House rolled his eyes, but started moving his leg up and down, and side to side, making galluping noises as he bounced Benjie around. Wilson could not believe what he was seeing. He took a seat on the couch next to House and just watched, smiling.

A commercial came on, and House snapped his fingers at the two girls on the floor. "I need some more chips. And another Coke."

The two girls took off for the kitchen, giggling. Wilson looked on, appalled. "House!"

"What? We're playing 'House servants.' They're my servants, and their only job is to do my bidding as quickly as possible."

"You can't _do that_ to –"

"Aw, they love it. See?" The girls came back with an opened bag of potato chips and a cold can of Coke. Jeanine poured the chips into House's empty bowl, while Portia struggle to open the can.

"Need anything else, Mr. Greg?" Portia asked.

"No, I think I'm good for now. Oh, shhh, the commercial's ending!"

The two girls settled back down to watch.

"I might have wanted a soda too, you know," grumbled Wilson.

House rolled his eyes. "Get your own impressionable kids to do your bidding. These are taken."

Wilson watched as Portia stole a handful of chips from House's bowl and shared them with Jeanine. Portia looked furtively up at House to see if he noticed, and House pretended not to.

"Isn't it almost lunch time?" Wilson whispered. "Or were you going to feed them potato chips for lunch?"

As if on cue, the doorbell rang again. "Get that, will ya?" House whispered back. "It'll be about forty dollars, with tip."

"What?" Wilson exclaimed, but answered the door anyway. It was a pizza deliveryman. Wilson took the two pizzas and order of breadsticks, and forked over his own money. He should have known House would somehow find a way to part him from his money – after all, he always did.

"Lunchtime!" shouted House. He gathered Benjie up and followed Wilson into the kitchen, where he found plates and napkins.

"Can we have ice cream after lunch?" Portia asked.

"Do you see a cow hanging around?" House sniped. Portia shook her head no. "Then I guess the answer's no."

"Oh. Okay."

Wilson was impressed with how well Portia took the news. He had half expected a tantrum, or at least some pouting.

House handed out two slices to each kid, who all disappeared back into the living room with their lunch – except Jeanine, who handed hers back.

"I can't eat dairy," she said sadly.

"Oh." House thought for a second, then handed her a breadstick instead. She looked at it and put it down.

"This has dairy on it. See?"

Sure enough, it was covered in Parmesan cheese. House wanted to tell her that a little cheese couldn't possibly hurt her, but then realized that he didn't have her medical records – maybe it _could_, who knew. He looked around the kitchen for some other option. Seeing the bag of potato chips, his eyes lit up. He poured some chips onto a plate, grabbed the little container of marinara sauce that had come with the breadsticks, and plopped it down in the middle of the chips. Jeanine took a chip, tentatively dipped it into the sauce, and put it in her mouth. Shrugging, she took the whole plate and went back to the living room. Wilson again looked at House as if he had just committed a war crime.

"_That's_ going to be her lunch? I don't even think there's one entire food group on that plate, House!"

"Oh, relax, Wilson. She's lucky to be eating at all. These modern parents and their 'Three square meals a day' business. Back in my day, we had to walk fifty miles in the blinding blizzard, uphill both ways, _wearing flip-flops_, just to get something to eat. It's not like she won't be able to eat _yet again_ at dinner time. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Wilson wanted to respond, but now found himself distracted by thinking about House and underwear. He wondered what kind of underwear House was wearing right now, and if there was any possible way he could somehow check. Shaking his head, he tried to change the subject.

"I thought you said there were five kids. I only see four?"

House looked around. "Oh yeah." He grabbed another plate and slide a slice of pizza onto it, then headed for Erica's bedroom. Wilson followed, curious. He watched as House approached the far corner of the room, and only then saw the boy sitting there, behind the nightstand.

"Pizza time!" House announced, handing the plate to the boy. The boy took the plate without looking up from whatever he was doing with his notebook, and set it down on the floor next to him. House shrugged, looked at Wilson, and walked away.

"What's his problem?" Wilson whispered.

House shrugged again. "Just quiet, I guess. Come on, I want to see whether Miley's going to get a date with that guy."

Wilson followed House back to the living room, thinking that despite the unhealthy lunch, things were really fairly under control. He was almost impressed.

Benjie looked up at House. "Horsie?" he asked.

House sighed. "Fine. Come on up."

Benjie started to climb onto House's right thigh, but House stopped him "Ah, ah, ah – what happens if you sit on that one?"

"I'll get a flesh eating fungus and I'll have to pay you five dollars to get the cure," Benjie recited. House nodded.

"That's right. Here, climb over it onto this side." He helped Benjie onto his left side and started 'galluping' his thigh again. Wilson looked away from House, trying not to laugh.

The two men and four kids watched another two episodes contentedly. House had the two older girls gather up all the dishes and load them into Erica's dishwasher, only following behind them when they were done to turn it on. Before they knew it, the doorbell rung – the kids' foster mom had come to pick them up.

"Wilson, go get that," House said, as he walked toward the bedroom. "I'll get Alex."

House heard Wilson make polite small talk with the woman at the door. He ambled over to Erica's nightstand and stood there. "Alex...time to go home."

Alex said nothing, just closed his notebook and stood up. He walked past House without looking at him at all, and House watched him leave, wondering a little about this strange kid.

When the kids were all gone, House and Wilson collapsed on the couch. Wilson turned to House.

"You're a lot better with kids than I would have thought, House."

House shrugged. "Didn't throw any of 'em out the window, if that's what you mean." He closed his eyes, exhausted. Wilson reached out his hands and began gently rubbing House's shoulders. At this, House's eyes popped wide open.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Shhh," Wilson admonished. "Just relax." He pushed House forward and twisted him around so that his back was facing Wilson, then began to massage House's back in earnest, smiling as House groaned happily.

House let himself enjoy Wilson's ministrations for much longer than he intended. He felt himself dozing off, and only woke up when Wilson stopped. House sat up fully and looked at Wilson, confused. It was then that he heard the key turning in the door. Erica was home.


	11. Chapter 11

House and Wilson pulled away from each other and moved to opposite ends of the couch. The door opened, and Erica walked in, looking around. Not seeing anything egregiously out of place or broken, she smiled.

"How were they?" she asked.

House looked at Wilson. "Fine."

"Good! What did you make them for lunch?"

Wilson snorted, and House glared at him before responding. "We ordered pizza."

Erica looked alarmed. "Pizza? Jeanine can't have dairy!"

"Calm down," House soothed. "She didn't have any pizza. We took care of her."

Erica visibly relaxed. "Okay. So everything went fine? What did you guys do?"

House shrugged. "We just hung out and watched t.v. It was fine. Alex didn't say two words, though."

"Yeah, he never does. Greg, I can't thank you enough for this. And you too, James. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up."

"No problem," House said sincerely. "Besides...you can pay me back later." He grinned lasciviously.

Erica laughed. "Just not tonight. I'm beat, and I have to go back in tomorrow – can you believe it?"

Wilson stood up. "We should get going, then, and let you get some rest."

Erica looked pained. "I'm so sorry to dump five kids on you, then just kick you out. I owe you guys."

House pushed himself off of the couch and gave Erica a peck on the cheek. "Call me when you're not busy anymore."

Erica smiled at the sensation of his prickly stubble, and gently cupped his cheek. She pulled down until he was eye level to her, then slowly kissed him. "Thanks again."

House nodded, smiling, and he and Wilson left. As they were walking down the hall, House thought of something.

"Where did you learn to massage like that?"

Wilson just smiled. "Did you like it?"

"Did I _like_ it? I would trade my bike for another one of those massages!"

Wilson's eyes twinkled. "I think that can be arranged."

House laughed, and they made their way to their respective vehicles. Wilson watched House mount his bike, thinking that sometime soon he would have to get House to give him a ride on that thing. With that thought putting a smile on his face, he got in his car and headed home.

* * *

"House," whispered Wilson. "House!"

House cracked an eye open with an odd sense of deja vu. Wasn't it just yesterday that Wilson had been standing at his bedside, trying to wake him up far too early on a weekend?

"House, I'm going to New York today. Do you want to come with?"

Now House was confused. This _was_ what happened yesterday. Had he dreamt the whole day? Was it still Saturday morning?

"House? Are you awake? Since I spent the whole day babysitting with you yesterday, I never got to go. So I'm going now. Are you coming too?"

So this was actually Sunday. House opened both eyes, giving Wilson a fatigued look. "How soon do I have to get up?"

"You'd have to get up now, House. I want to leave in half an hour."

House sighed, then threw off the covers. "Yeah, I'll come."

Wilson smiled brightly. "Great! I'll go get coffee started for you. It will be ready by the time you're done with your shower."

House stumbled out of bed and into the shower. He had actually had a lot of fun yesterday with Wilson and the kids, and a trip out of town would be the perfect finish to this weekend. He quickly showered and toweled off, found some jeans and a t-shirt, and went to join Wilson. The coffee was smelling wonderful.

Wilson passed House a mug, and couldn't help but notice the way House's wet hair dripped onto his ear and shirt. The shirt stuck to House's chest, outlining his muscles. Wilson stared for a few moments before House caught him.

"Something I can do for you?" House asked, smirking.

Wilson blushed and looked away. "I made pancakes. You want some?"

"Sure," House agreed enthusiastically. He couldn't remember ever turning down Wilson's pancakes. Wilson fixed a plate for House, and began writing down notes in a little notepad while House ate. House watched Wilson out of the corner of his eye.

"Something I can do for you?" asked Wilson, mocking House's words. House laughed.

"Just wondering what you were writing, is all."

"Oh, just a to-do list. Things to get, places to go. You know."

House rolled his eyes. "This is supposed to be _fun_, Wilson. Don't turn it into a bunch of errands."

Wilson shrugged and put the notebook into his back pocket. House sighed.

"You almost done?" Wilson asked.

House shoved one more bite into his mouth, then brought his plate to the sink. "Let me just get my cane."

"Okay, meet you in the car."

* * *

The day went by quickly, and Wilson actually did manage to cross off most of the things on his list. The two found themselves making the long trek back to the car when they passed a hot dog stand. House's eyes lit up. He was going to have to rest his leg before making it the rest of the way to the car, but he didn't really want to tell Wilson that. He liked hot dogs, and a hot dog stand seemed as good a place as any to stop for a while. He gave Wilson puppy dog eyes and gestured to the stand.

"Please, Wilson?" he whined.

Laughing, Wilson followed House over, and they each got a hot dog; Wilson's with only mustard, and House's with "the works." They found a bench and settled in for a while. House stretched his leg.

"I miss this," Wilson said.

"Hot dogs?"

"Spending time with you. I feel like we don't get enough time together lately."

House looked at Wilson strangely. "We live together. How is that not enough time?"

Wilson shook his head. "No, I mean...you know, _quality_ time. We're drifting...apart."

House was quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. "So...what do you want to do about it?"

"I just want to do more things together, House. Like we used to."

House thought for a second, then grinned impishly. "We could always babysit those kids together again," he suggested.

Wilson laughed. "Let's think about some other options, and save that one for a last resort."

House nodded, a bit more sober now. "Wilson..."

Wilson looked at House expectantly. "Yeah?"

"I don't...you're my best friend. No matter what happens. I don't want to lose you."

The two got up without saying another word, and chucked their trash into a garbage can. As they walked together, Wilson finally responded, so softly that House almost missed it.

"Me either."

* * *

The two had hoped for a leisurely drive back from the city, but just as they got to the car, House's phone rang. It was his team – he had a case. Wilson spent the drive flooring the accelerator, in total silence, alternately listening to House talk with his team and letting House think without interruption. Wilson dropped House off at the hospital, and drove home alone.

House was up for most of the night, and by dawn their patient was extremely critical. It was Foreman who convinced House to take a nap while the team monitored their patient for any signs of change after the latest treatment. The team had taken naps in shifts all night, and House was the last one.

He leaned back in his Eames chair and rested his eyes. He didn't think he would be able to get to sleep, but the next thing he knew, it was noon. Looking at his watch, he sat straight up, wincing when his leg protested. He grabbed for his cane and pushed himself into the conference room. Chase was there, working on a crossword puzzle.

"How's the patient?" House asked.

"No change. But it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet. We need to wait a while longer."

House nodded. "Get everybody in here. We need to come up with some other possibilities."

They got the team assembled, and House again became engrossed in his patient. He didn't notice when Wilson popped his head in at six to check whether House might want a ride home. He forgot to eat breakfast or lunch, but found that somebody had left a Reuben sandwich in the mini-fridge, and labeled it "Property of G. House – all others beware." He smiled and grabbed the sandwich. No pickles, just the way he liked it. It must have been Wilson, but he hadn't even seen him come in.

House spent the next three days with his team, showering in the locker room and wearing scrubs; sleeping when he could find a few hours to crash in his office. On Wednesday evening the patient finally began to show improvement, and Cuddy demanded that he go home. Under orders, House grabbed his things and walked toward the elevator...then realized his didn't actually have his car here.

He checked Wilson's office, but it was empty. He thought about calling Wilson for a ride, but didn't want to bother him. He got the sense from their conversation in New York that something was going wrong in their relationship. He didn't want to push it any further, in case it was that close to breaking. He wasn't going to make Wilson come all the way back to work just to get him. He called a cab and waited in the lobby. He had not seen or talked to Wilson since Sunday, and he hadn't seen Erica since Saturday. He had a feeling he would be dealing with some hurt feelings in the very near future, but right now he was exhausted. He just wanted to go home and crash.

The cab arrived, and House gave the driver directions to the condo. He nodded off for a few minutes, and the driver had to wake him up when they got there. House handed over some bills, then stumbled into the building and onto the elevator. As the elevator climbed, he found his key, and he nearly ran off of the elevator when it stopped. He opened the condo door, looked briefly around, then took his shoes off. He didn't see Wilson – maybe he was already asleep. He bypassed the kitchen and went straight to his bedroom, not even bothering to take his scrubs off. He fell onto the bed, almost completely asleep, except for a small part of his brain.

That small part stopped to notice that his bed was made (a rare state of affairs), and that all of his linens smelled fresh and clean. His last waking thought was that somebody must have broken in to the condo and his room and washed his sheets. They would have to tighten up security. Just as soon as he woke up.

And with that thought, House was out like a rock for the next twelve hours.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: WARNING for some slight violence.**

**

* * *

**

House awoke to the smell of something wonderful wafting in from the kitchen. Without opening his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Banana bread. Somebody was baking banana bread in their kitchen.

He rolled over until his legs were on the edge of the bed, then swung them down to the floor. Babying his right leg, he limped out to the kitchen. He was right. Wilson was in the kitchen, holding a steaming loaf of banana bread. From the looks of it, there were even chocolate chips in it.

House collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, and a mug of coffee was placed in front of his nose.

"You're a godsend," House muttered as he wrapped both hands around the mug.

Wilson smiled, even though he knew House wasn't looking. He sliced off a piece of banana bread for each of them, and plopped the bread onto two plates. He slid one down to House and began to pick at his own. "Case finally solved?" he asked casually.

House nodded. He wanted to ask Wilson about his bed linens, but had no idea how to bring something like that up. _Hey, Wilson, did you invade my room to wash my sheets? Or am I inventing fantasies about my best friend that have to do with him in my bed?_ No, there didn't seem to be a good way to ask. Instead, he shoved a huge chunk of banana bread into his mouth and chewed happily.

"Is it good?" asked Wilson. House nodded vigorously.

"You going in today?"

House thought about it. He had caught up on a lot of sleep last night, so there was no reason not to go in this morning. He had nothing else to do. "Might as well," he said, shrugging.

"You want a ride in?"

House hesitated. He didn't want to have to bother Wilson for a ride back home again at the end of the day. Also, he hadn't seen Erica in almost a week, and he thought he might want to go straight to her place from work.

"That's...okay. I think I'll take the bike."

Wilson shrugged. "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you there. I'm going to get going."

House watched as Wilson rinsed off the coffee pot, and winced as he slammed it into the dish rack. Was Wilson upset that he had said no to his offer? House pretended to sip his coffee, but kept one eye on Wilson as he stalked out of the kitchen. A minute later, he heard the front door slam. House waited a few minutes to give Wilson a head start, then got up himself. He left his coffee mug on the table, still half-full, and headed outside for his bike. He had no idea how to fix things with Wilson. He didn't even completely understand what was broken.

* * *

Erica sounded very understanding when House spoke to her on the phone from his office. He guessed that maybe she still felt guilty for dumping the kids on her, and was letting him get away with a few things. He wondered how much he could work the guilt for. He arranged to pick Erica up after work so they could grab dinner, and spent the rest of his day thinking of ways that Erica might be able to repay him for his extreme generosity of last weekend. He left work with a huge grin.

Erica answered the door almost right after he rung the bell. She was still wearing her work clothes, which House actually thought made her look totally hot. He liked the way her pants suit framed her butt.

He smiled. "Ready to go?"

She nodded. "So where did you have in mind?"

House shrugged. "I just want something to eat. I figured I'd let you work out the details."

Erica thought for a moment as the two made their way down the hall. "How do you feel about Thai food?"

House's eyes lit up. "Love it, why?"

"I know the perfect place. I'll drive."

House was about to protest, but then realized that he had come on his bike. Also, the last time he drove, he had threatened to leave Erica behind at their date. He thought she might be trying to avoid a repeat of that ugly situation. He almost felt bad about it, but not enough to bring it up. He just followed her lead, and let himself catch a few glimpses of her ass as she walked to her car.

The restaurant was a little hole in the wall, but they did not skimp on the spices. House actually thought his tongue might start emitting smoke at any second. The endorphin rush was phenomenal. Trying to remember what his mother had taught him about how to conduct himself on a date, he decided to try asking about Erica's week.

"It's actually been nice and smooth, compared to the disaster of a weekend I had. Once that crisis resolved, everything's been quiet. How about your week?"

House swallowed his chicken. "Had a pretty intense case. Actually didn't leave the office for a few days. But it's over now. The guy's getting better."

Erica looked impressed. "Wow. That's some dedication. You actually slept there?"

"When I could. If the patient wasn't dying at the moment." House was bragging a bit, but he also knew he was telling the complete truth. It just happened to be a truth that made him look good, for once.

"You know, the hospital is lucky to have a doctor like you. But I guess people don't get sick on a nine to five schedule, do they?"

House shook his head. "I guess finances don't...get sick...on a nine to five schedule, either." He still had very little idea of what it was that Erica actually did.

She laughed. "It's a good thing neither of us has kids. We'd probably have to put them in a kennel. But you really did a great job on Saturday."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I talked to the kids and their mom yesterday. Apparently they were all very happy when they got home. Benjie wants to be a doctor now when he grows up. Well, either that or a cowboy. But he was very impressed by you."

House tried to stop himself from blushing. He didn't think spending three hours with the kid would have such an impact.

Erica noticed, but didn't draw attention to it. "Even Alex really liked you."

At this, House laughed. "How could anyone tell?"

"Oh, he talks. It just takes him a very long time to open up to a person. But he told his foster mom that he liked you because you let him be, didn't try to push him past his limits. And you didn't forget about him either. Nice balancing act."

Huh. Well, that kind of made sense. And House was glad to hear that Alex's impression of him was on the positive side. He was much more used to hearing negative things about himself.

"You're just trying to sucker me in to babysitting again, aren't you?"

Erica's eyes twinkled. "You've discovered my devious plot!"

House laughed and speared a piece of Erica's tofu from her plate.

"Hey!" She smacked his hand lightly. House chewed defiantly, tasting the sweet coconut milk, his eyes daring her to do anything.

"I thought I was safe ordering tofu," she said. "No guy likes tofu, I thought. But you're not just any guy, are you?"

House didn't know how to reply. He fidgeted uncomfortably, then looked down at his own plate. He shoved another piece of chicken in his mouth so that he didn't have to answer.

* * *

It was late when House unlocked the door to his condo. He had taken Erica out for a drink after dinner (or rather, _she_ had taken _him_), and the two had been enjoying themselves so much that they had both lost track of time. Then they decided to order some coffee and sit for a while talking while the coffee kicked in. Erica had decided that she was okay to drive, and had finally taken them back to her place at around eleven. He had given her a quick goodbye kiss, then hopped on his bike and headed for home.

When he walked in, the condo was dark. He flipped the light switch, and was startled to see Wilson sitting on the couch, staring into space. He looked mad.

"Hey, Wilson," House said softly. He dropped his keys onto the table next to the door, and leaned his cane against the wall.

"Where the hell have you been?" Wilson's tone was clipped.

"I was just out with Erica for a while. Why?"

"You didn't think to call? To let me know before you left? I had no idea where you were."

House was totally lost. "I...didn't know I needed to call and ask your permission before taking Erica out on a date." He saw Wilson's expression and decided to back off a bit. "Sorry."

Wilson got up from the couch and walked toward House. "You didn't think I would _worry?_ You could have been anywhere. You could have been hurt. I need to know where you _are_, House."

House had no idea what was bringing this on all of a sudden. In his younger years, he had shown up at Wilson's place at three a.m., staggering drunk, and Wilson had never asked where he had been – or appeared to care. Now he was just coming home from a fairly tame date. He wasn't drunk, and it wasn't even midnight yet.

"Sorry. I guess I'll call you next time to check in?" House really couldn't figure out what Wilson wanted.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Wilson screamed. "I've been sitting here for hours, picturing the worst, wondering when it would be too early to call the police, going through a mental list of possible caskets...and the whole time you were just out with that hussy."

House stiffened. That was kind of uncalled for. Wilson was mad at him, not Erica, so why bring her into this. Or was that the problem?

"Are you jealous? Is that what this is about? Sorry, next time I'll invite you along. We can have a threesome."

Wilson's eyes flashed, and he stormed toward House. House backed up into the front door, but had nowhere else to go. He watched Wilson advance toward him, and immediately regretted saying anything. Now there was no way to de-escalate Wilson. House saw Wilson's arm raise as he got within swinging distance of House, and had the strong urge to bring his own arms up in defense. He willed his arms to stay down, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from coming into contact with Wilson. Whatever happened, he didn't want to hurt Wilson any more than he had already. He closed his eyes and tensed up, waiting for the blow.

It never came; instead, he heard a loud thud next to his head. He opened his eyes. Wilson had punched the wall next to the door, and was now holding his injured hand, looking at House in shock.

House kept his eyes on the ground. Wilson stared at House, making him even more uncomfortable. House didn't know what do say or do.

"Well, if we're done playing 'Pin The Fist On The Cripple,' I guess I'll be heading to bed," House spit out, trying to make his tone sound light. It didn't. His voice shook, and his eyes darted nervously around.

Wilson stepped back to let House pass, and House slowly moved toward his bedroom. He turned away from Wilson as soon as he could. He didn't want Wilson to notice his shaking hands.

It didn't matter. Wilson was still staring at the slight indentation he had created in the drywall. What had just happened? He heard House's door gently snick shut, but didn't move from his spot next to the wall. It was only when his hand began to throb intensely several minutes later that Wilson moved, dazedly walking to the kitchen to find some ice.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Happy Fourth of July! Just want to take a second to say thanks for all the reviews I've been getting alone the way. Here's the next chapter...**

* * *

House lay in bed the next morning, listening for the sounds of Wilson's morning routine. He was hoping to avoid Wilson completely; at least until he got to work. He waited through Wilson's shower, and strained to hear his footsteps in the kitchen. About twenty minutes after the last chair scrape that House heard, he decided it was safe enough to venture out. He figured Wilson would be long gone, since he was normally an early riser and always liked to be at work early.

House threw on some clothes and looked around for his cane, until he realized he had left it near the front door. He limped into the kitchen, reached for the refrigerator door...and saw Wilson sitting there. He was staring into space, very much as he had been doing last night. House froze. Should he leave the room? Or would it be better to eat breakfast with Wilson as usual, and pretend nothing had happened?

Wilson saw House standing there, and dove right into a third option, the one House dreaded the most: _talking_ about it.

"House, I am so sorry for what happened last night," Wilson said in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

House looked at Wilson for a moment, and the sincerity he felt emanating from the younger man burned. "Okay."

Wilson continued on, stumbling through a lengthy apology that House didn't see as at all necessary. "You were right. About what you said to me the day of your dad's funeral – I don't do well with losing people. And I...I feel like lately I've been losing you."

House continued to stare at Wilson, saying nothing. Wilson plowed on.

"You're spending so much time with that woman, and no matter what I do for you, you don't notice...you certainly don't say _thank you_...and that's okay, that's who you are, I guess. But it would be nice to be acknowledged once in a while. And then I think that I have no right to even think that, because it's not as if I'm in a relationship with you. In fact, changing your linens was probably a bit creepy. But I _care_ about you. It's like you don't even want to spend time with me. You won't even ride in to work with me anymore. When I made you coffee yesterday, you just left it all over the table like I'm your maid. Anyway, it all got to be too much for me last night, and I had no idea where you were. I snapped. I had no idea I would ever do anything like that. I've never done anything like that before."

House couldn't help but interrupt Wilson's babbling. "You threw a bottle through a window. You threw another one through a mirror. I'm not sure it was totally unexpected."

Wilson stopped and thought about that for a moment. "Wow...you're right. I'm so sorry, House. I...didn't mean to hurt you."

House rolled his eyes. "_You didn't_. Don't you remember, you punched the wall, not me. Now can we stop talking about this already?"

"No. I'm worried about you, House."

"I already told you that you didn't touch me! There's nothing to worry about."

Wilson shook his head. "Not that. I...hmm." He stopped for a moment, trying to word what he wanted to say. House grabbed the milk carton and sat down at the table, chugging it right from the container. Wilson pretended not to see.

"I'm...concerned about the way you reacted when you saw me coming. You didn't make any effort to defend yourself. You were just going to let me hit you!"

House said nothing, staring at the milk. His fingers twitched against the plastic.

Wilson pushed. "Why wouldn't you stand up for yourself?"

House shrugged. "Didn't want to hurt you."

"Okay, but you didn't duck, move, try to block...nothing. And that wasn't the first time."

House sighed. "What are you talking about?"

Wilson started reciting events as if reading from a list. "You let Chase punch you, and didn't press charges. I can't even count how many patients have hit you, and never pressed charges. You let Big Love –"

"Drop it, Wilson," House cut in firmly, once he realized where Wilson was going with this. Wilson ignored him.

"You let Big Love punch you and didn't do anything. Lucas tripped you and you didn't even _tell_ Cuddy, much less defend yourself."

"Wilson, stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore." House shoved his chair back and got up.

"I'm not dropping this, House! Why won't you defend yourself? Why can't you see that you matter just as much as anyone else?"

House shook his head and walked out of the kitchen. Wilson followed him, not giving up.

"I asked you to do the DBS, and you knew it could kill you. You agreed anyway. _Why didn't you stop me?_"

"Quit following me," House demanded as he went into his own bedroom and tried to close the door. Wilson wedged himself in between the doorjamb and the door.

"I used to think that you were very confident about yourself; arrogant, even. Now I'm starting to think it's just the opposite. The arrogance is a front, or maybe it's just for work. You don't think you have any worth at all, do you?"

House threw his head back and looked up at the ceiling. What would make Wilson shut up the fastest? Wilson was coming far too close to the truth for his comfort, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

"_Please_, Wilson," he said, trying to make himself sound exasperated.

"I'm worried, House. I'm worried you'll let someone really hurt you, and you won't even put up a fight."

He stared at House, hoping for some kind of answer. House avoided Wilson's gaze.

"Say something," Wilson demanded.

"What do you want me to say? I don't know how to answer you, Wilson. I live my life, you get mad. I argue with you, you get mad. I do nothing and let you vent, you get mad. I _don't_ want to talk right now. Can we please just drop it?"

Wilson kept staring at House. "House...what was really happening that day in the shower?"

House gestured to the doorway, which Wilson was blocking. "Can you move, please?"

"We never talked about it. Just like we never talk about anything else important. Just like you're refusing to talk now."

"You're in my way."

"You were apologizing to me. Like you were in trouble. What made you think that?"

House took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. Although he spoke carefully, he wasn't able to stop his voice from shaking. "I'm going to be late for work."

"You flinched every time I touched you."

"_Get out of my way_."

Wilson looked at House with eyes that practically dared him to fight back. "Make me."

House laughed nervously and backed up about a foot. "Are you crazy? What are you doing, Wilson?"

"I want you to stand up for yourself. Make me move."

House thought back to his last conversation with Nolan. _It sounds like Wilson may have some issues respecting your boundaries in this area_. House had missed this week's session with Nolan due to the crisis at work, but he wished he had been able to talk more about confronting Wilson. Of course, he never dreamed that he would be facing an actual _confrontation_ this week, complete with being blocked into his own room. He was just going to have to figure this out on his own. He took a deep breath and worked to keep his voice as steady as he could.

"I shouldn't have to _make_ you, Wilson. I've asked you to drop the subject. I've asked you to move out of the way. If you have any respect for my boundaries, that should be enough."

Wilson blinked as House's calm statement sunk in, then moved out of the way. He looked down at his feet in shame as House walked past. House was right, and what's more, he actually _had_ asserted himself. It was the first time Wilson could remember that ever happening.

* * *

House called Erica as soon as he got to work.

"Hey, I have a favor to ask." He picked up his oversized tennis ball and rotated it with his fingers.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Can I stay with you this weekend? Wilson's being...I just don't think it's a good idea to be at home right now."

There was a slight pause from the other end of the line. "Sure...but I'm going to have the kids again on Saturday. You know, sort of to make up for what happened last weekend."

House shrugged, even though Erica couldn't see him through the phone. "That's okay, I kind of like them. They're fun to order around."

Erica laughed. "Then sure, okay. So what's going on with Wilson?"

Now it was House who paused. "Nothing huge. Just...trying to avoid escalating a situation."

"Okay, well, I'll see you tonight, then."

They hung up, and House thought back to the morning at home. Wilson was right. He did have trouble asserting his boundaries. But when he finally did so strongly enough with Wilson, Wilson actually seemed to hear him. Until this morning, House had been convinced that nobody would listen to him. He had never really tried before. The fact that Wilson listened meant something; something big. He just wasn't exactly sure what.

He spent the rest of the morning trying to put Wilson out of his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

House sat at Erica's kitchen table, wishing for a mug of Wilson's coffee. Erica was in the living room, vacuuming. When she had told him how early the kids would be coming over, and to please put on some pants, he had scoffed. Surely it was impossible to get five kids ready and transported to another woman's apartment by ten o'clock on a Saturday morning.

Erica had simply pointed to House's duffel bag and said, "Now, Greg."

Not wanting to start an argument about something as mundane as pants, he had obeyed, but he drew the line at making breakfast. He would just wait here until Erica fixed something. Unfortunately for him, she had eaten hours ago, and had no such intention.

He heard the doorbell chime, and soon thereafter the sound of running feet. He sighed, and got up from the kitchen table, stomach rumbling. He wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch, waiting for his warm welcome.

The three girls were already in their spot on the floor behind the couch, playing with LEGOs. Alex had already disappeared. Even Benjie seemed totally engrossed in the hand-held video game he was playing. House cleared his throat loudly.

"Hi, Mr. Greg," Katie said, without looking up from the building she was constructing. The other three kids mumbled something polite, too, but didn't pay him much attention. House was miffed.

Erica saw what was going on and laughed. "Guess you're not shiny and new anymore, huh?"

House shot her a look, then twisted around to look behind the couch. "You girls ready to play 'House Servants?'"

Portia shook her head without looking up. "We don't want to play that today. We're already playing Architect."

Jeanine did look up at House, and the instant he saw her eyes, he softened. They were scared. She looked at her sister tensely, then looked back up at House, apparently wrestling with some decision. Then she appeared to make up her mind. "Yeah, we're playing Architect right now," she agreed softly. Then she looked away.

House was floored. Here was this seven year old asserting herself, even though she appeared scared to death. Maybe she could teach an old diagnostician a few tricks. He watched Jeanine hold a LEGO piece so tightly that it was making an indentation on her hand, and realized she was still expecting an answer – probably with some kind of bad ending.

"That sounds fun," he quickly said. "How do you play?"

He could see Jeanine relax instantly. "Well, the rich lady puts in an order –"

"That's me," explained Portia. Jeanine nodded.

"Then we make the house she wants. Katie finds the pieces I need."

"Oh," said House. He had no idea how to join in. Fortunately, Jeanine saved him

"You can make designs in the next wall. Something cool. Use the blue and yellow LEGOs."

House got up and walked around the couch, ignoring Erica's shocked look. Did she think he had just let them have all the fun when he was watching them last week? He wanted to play, too! He eased himself down to the floor and began to build a wall with zig-zag designs in it. He soon became totally engrossed in his wall, and in listening to the story Portia was spinning about what she would be doing in each of the rooms of her mansion. He almost jumped when he felt something gently brushing his back.

Benjie had silently come over to their little group, and was now using House as a shield, occasionally peaking around his broad shoulders to see what the girls were up to. House didn't blame him – if he lived with three girls, he would hide from them, too.

He felt Benjie fidget around, and wondered what he was doing. Then he realized that the five year old wasn't quite tall enough to see past House. House turned around, grabbed Benjie, and lifted the boy up to his shoulders. They settled into a comfortable routine, and House heard Erica get up from the couch.

"I'm going to go get things ready for lunch," she told him, brushing a hand on his bicep.

"Okay," he replied, now just as distracted as the girls had been. Benjie grabbed hold of House's hair to shift himself around on his new seat. It barely hurt at all, House thought with surprise.

"Is your house going to have a whirlpool hot tub?" he asked Portia.

"What's that?"

"When you take a bath, the water swirls around. It's really cool. It helps a lot for relaxing your muscles."

Portia had no idea what House was talking about, but was feeling generous. "When you come to visit, do you _want_ there to be a worl...a wupool...a bath with swirling water?"

"That'd be great, sweetie. It would help my leg."

She shrugged. "Then we'll put one in every bathroom. There's gonna be ten bathrooms. So nobody has to share."

House laughed. "Sounds like a great plan. So I'm coming to visit, huh?"

Portia looked up at him. "Aren't you?"

House was taken aback. He barely knew these kids at all, and yet he had one sitting on his shoulders and another inviting him over already. "Uh...of course. Just send the limo to pick me up whenever you want me there," he teased.

"The Hummer limo or the Rolls Royce?" she replied, totally serious.

House had to hold back another laugh. This kid definitely had plans.

Before too long, Erica called them into the kitchen for lunch. She had put together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all of them, and plated them up with carrot sticks and potato chips. Why hadn't House thought of peanut butter last weekend? Brilliant!

Erica passed out the sandwiches and Portia piped up. "I'd like mine with jelly and no peanut butter, please."

"No such thing," Erica said firmly.

Portia started pouting. "Mr. Greg will let me have a jelly sandwich, right?" She looked up at House with puppy dog eyes.

House scrunched up his face as if deep in thought. "Hmmmm...doesn't sound like the type of thing I'd do. Does that sound like my style to you, Erica?"

"Nope, sure doesn't," Erica said with a grin. She was glad House wasn't going to let the kids play them against each other. But House was too smart to make that rookie mistake.

Portia saw that she wasn't going to get her way and started to yell. "Fine, I just won't eat anything at all! I'll go hungry! I hope you're both happy!"

House shrugged. "If you're not going to eat it, can I have your sandwich then?" He reached over to grab it off of her plate.

Portia looked at House, mouth wide open. This was not going the way she had planned. He apparently didn't seem to care at all whether she ate or not. She wasn't going to give him what he wanted.

"No way, it's mine." She pulled the plate away from him and covered it with her arm protectively.

He shrugged again. "If you say so." He took a big bite of his own sandwich and chewed loudly.

"Mmmmm." House was really putting on a show.

Portia watched him enjoy his sandwich for a few minutes, then gave in and took a bite of hers, peanut butter and all. House smirked. He had her wrapped around his little finger.

Erica took two sandwiches in to Alex, then returned to join everybody else for lunch.

"So Portia, how's the end of your school year going?" she asked casually.

"Great!" Portia enthused, the sandwich incident totally forgotten. "We're doing reports on the ancient Egyptians, and then we're making posters. And you know what? We don't even have to buy the poster ourselves. Mrs. Billings brought in enough poster board for everybody. I'm making mine in the shape of a pyramid."

House raised an eyebrow. "You know, I lived in Egypt when I was much younger. I've actually seen the pyramids."

"Really?" Portia was enthralled. "Did you see any mummies?"

House nodded. "They were ugly. Nothing like the white toilet paper mummies you see on t.v. Real mummies are kind of scary."

"I think they're cool. Did you know they used chemicals to keep the bodies right?"

"To preserve them, you mean?"

"Yeah. Isn't it cool that they had science even back then? My teacher says in sixth grade we'll get to take science class every day."

House straightened up, intrigued. It sounded like little Portia was quite the blooming scientist. Finally, a kid he had something in common with. "What's your favorite part of science?"

Portia thought for a moment before she answered, chewing her sandwich. "Astronomy. I want to be an astronaut."

House smiled. "Me, too." He scooped up the last of his potato chips.

"Any more chips, Erica?"

"Nope, this was the last of them, big guy. There's more carrot sticks if you want."

House made a face at Erica. "Wilson would let me have his," he griped. Erica rolled her eyes.

While he was looking away, Portia surreptitiously transferred a handful of chips from her plate to House's. When he looked down again and saw them, he smiled. These kids were not so bad at all.

* * *

The girls had abandoned their LEGO mansion in favor of drawing and coloring. Katie was using crayons to draw different shapes and stars, Jeanine was drawing what appeared to be a person, and Portia was drawing a house, in pencil. Only Benjie seemed lost, grabbing one crayon after another. He finally grabbed Katie's purple crayon right out of her hand.

"Hey!" she protested.

"I want this one," Benjie demanded.

"You can have it when I'm finished with it," she told him, trying to be nice.

Benjie's fist closed around the crayon. "No, now. I'm keeping it."

Katie looked at Benjie as if weighing her options. Finally she shrugged and found a blue crayon instead. A few minutes later, Benjie grabbed that one, too.

"Benjie, stop taking my crayons!"

"Make me!"

Erica wandered over and picked Benjie up. "Okay, I think it's nap time for you, little man."

"Noooooooooooo!" Benjie clearly did not like the idea of being sent to take a nap. House intervened.

"Come take your nap on the couch with me. I could use one, too," he offered. Benjie stopped wailing long enough to look at House, trying to determine whether he was serious. House lay down on the couch and pointed to his chest.

"Put him right here." Erica lay Benjie down on top of House, and he immediately curled up into a little ball that fit on House's chest. House put an arm around Benjie to keep him from falling off, and tried to breathe steadily and slowly, to imitate what a napping five year old's respiration should be. Almost immediately, Benjie was out.

"Niiice!" Erica whispered. House winked. Then he closed his eyes and pretended to be napping, too. About five minutes later, he really _was_ napping, and Erica watched him for a while. He was cute when he was asleep; the lines of worry on his face seemed to smooth, and his long eyelashes fluttered with his dreams. Erica was glad that House seemed to be bonding with Benjie. On the surface, he hadn't seemed to be the "good with kids" type. She watched for a while longer, then left them to go check on Alex.

House could have napped the entire afternoon, but he was awakened by the frantic sound of Erica's voice.

"Greg. Greg, wake up. There's something wrong with Alex."

House mumbled something in his sleep without opening his eyes.

"Greg, I need you. Wake up, _please_."

At the sound of Erica almost panicking, he woke up with a jolt. "What?"

"There's something wrong with Alex. He can't extend his leg. I found him curled up in the fetal position. When I tried to ask him what was wrong, he ran off to the bathroom and now he's vomiting."

House diagnosed the problem instantly. He very gently slid out from under Benjie, trying not to wake him up. Then he limped into Erica's bathroom. Alex was sitting on the floor next to the toilet, looking miserable. He was in agony.

"Alex, does your stomach hurt?"

Alex nodded. His face looked white as a sheet.

"Does it hurt more on your right side?"

Alex thought for a minute, then nodded. House gently palpated Alex where he said it hurt, and the boy gasped in pain. House looked at Erica.

"We need to get him to the hospital. It's his appendix."


	15. Chapter 15

House drove Alex to PPTH while Erica gathered the other four kids and called their foster mom. House thanked the universe and whatever deities were at work that he had brought his car, not his bike, to Erica's place. He looked over at Alex, who looked absolutely green. "Hanging in there, kid?"

Alex managed to nod. House sped through yellow lights and pedestrian crosswalks, almost running three stop signs along the way. Finally, they pulled into the hospital, and House parked in the emergency lane. He quickly got out of the car and opened Alex's door as a nurse came to meet them with a gurney. He had called ahead about ten minutes ago to warn the ER that Alex's appendix was about to rupture. The nurse helped Alex on to the gurney, then looked at House.

"Alex, they're gonna take you to surgery right away, okay? I'm just going to park the car, then I'll meet you up there."

The nurse nodded to House. "We've got OR three booked. Dr. Scalia is scrubbing in now."

"OR three. Got it. Be right up."

A desperate voice whispered, "Don't leave me alone." House was shocked. Alex was talking to him for the first time ever.

"I'm not leaving you, I promise. But you can't wait. You need to get up there _now_, okay? I promise I'll be right behind you." House reached out to squeeze Alex's hand. To his amazement, the boy squeezed back.

House parked the car and got himself to OR three, changed into scrubs and scrubbed in. When he was finally allowed inside, the surgeon was explaining the procedure to Alex. The boy looked to be in too much pain to be scared. House walked over to Alex and, in an uncharacteristic action for him, allowed Dr. Scalia to finish talking. Then he talked to Alex as the surgical team prepped the anesthesia.

"You're going to be fine, Alex. They do this operation every day, and we caught it in time before your appendix burst. I'll see you when you wake up." Of course, Alex said nothing.

"Are you ready?" Alex looked up at House for a moment before finally nodding. A mask was placed over his face, and within seconds he was out. House stood back and let the surgical team do their job. He knew that if anything went wrong – which it wouldn't, he told himself – he probably wasn't the best person to step in. He was no surgeon. Although his delicate hands could handle the intricate details fairly well, he was unsteady on his feet. He would just have to wait patiently. Not his strength at all.

As he watched the team work on Alex, his mind began to wander. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. He had gotten to play with some pretty cool kids, he had spent some quality time with Erica. If he didn't watch it, he would start to become downright domestic. And he had fought with Wilson, yet again.

Wilson.

He hadn't called to let him know he was staying with Erica. The one thing House remembered promising from their argument was that he would let Wilson know where he was...and he hadn't. He hoped Wilson wasn't too worried. He would call as soon as Alex got out of surgery.

* * *

Wilson was frantic. He had called House's cellphone three times since last night, with no answer. That fact in itself didn't surprise him all that much – House hated answering his phone. If he didn't have a case, he saw no reason to talk. Wilson had also noticed that ever since his fake page to the hospital, House had answered far fewer of his calls. He guessed that was his fault.

He had guessed that House might have spent the night at Erica's, but he didn't actually have Erica's phone number. After a sleepless night, he debated with himself all morning, then finally called Information to get her number. But there was no answer there, either. Trying not to panic, he called House's office number at the hospital. No answer.

With shaky hands, he called the clinic number. Maybe House was knocking out some extra hours. Although it wasn't like him to work the clinic on Saturdays, and Cuddy would never make him do that. The desk nurse answered.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Clinic, how may I help you?"

"Uh, yes, this is Dr. Wilson. I was trying to...I mean, I was wondering if...is Dr. House working there today?"

"Dr. House?" The voice sounded confused. "I don't think he works Saturdays, Dr. Wilson. Is this – "

She was cut off by a voice in the background. Wilson could make out the words "ER" and "an hour ago."

The nurse came back on. "Sorry about that. Uh, yeah, I guess he came into the ER today."

Wilson's chest clenched. "The ER?"

"Yeah, he's in surgery now."

"What – what happened?"

The nurse was apologetic. "I really don't know, Dr. Wilson. That's not really my department."

"Of – of course. Thank you." Wilson hung up and stared at the phone in shock. Then he snapped out of it, grabbed his jacket, and ran out the door.

* * *

Wilson stopped in the ER just long enough to ask the triage nurse where House was.

"OR three," was the calm reply. Wilson gaped at her. How could she be so calm, so cavalier? He didn't have time to stop and argue, so he rushed to the elevator and tried to relax. It was probably nothing, he told himself. House was always pulling crazy stunts.

Yeah, crazy _life-threatening_ stunts, like shoving a knife into an electrical socket. Wilson shuddered, and nearly ran off of the elevator to the observation booth of OR three. He looked down, expecting to see his six foot two friend on the operating table. The patient he saw was much shorter, and much younger looking. Then he noticed a tall man off to the side of the surgery. He pressed the intercom button.

"House!" he bellowed.

House was watching the surgery intently when he, and everybody else in the room, jumped at the loud noise coming from the intercom.

"House!"

Dr. Scalia jumped, then regained his composure. He looked up, and addressed Wilson. "Dr. Wilson, you must keep your voice to a reasonable level. That stunt you just pulled could have caused me to hit something I'm not supposed to."

Wilson completely ignored him.

"House! How dare you make me worry like that! I thought you were here in surgery!"

House looked around, confused. "I _am_ here in surgery."

"_I thought you were hurt, you bastard!_"

At this, Dr. Scalia spoke up again. "Dr. Wilson, this is a completely inappropriate conversation to have in the middle of this kid's surgery. Please take this outside of my OR."

Wilson continued on as if he hadn't heard a word. "You wouldn't answer any phones, you didn't tell me where you were. I called the hospital and they told me you were in the ER! And they wouldn't tell me anything else! Do you have any idea what you just put me through?"

This time Dr. Scalia addressed House. "You need to go calm him down."

He looked to his side. "Nurse, shut off the intercom until Dr. Wilson is gone."

House looked up at Wilson, exasperated.

"He can wait," he told Scalia.

Or so he thought. Upon realizing that he was no longer being heard, Wilson began banging the glass of the observation window. Dr. Scalia gnashed his teeth.

"Dr. House, please go up there and find out what the hell's wrong with him. He's disrupting this surgery."

House watched Wilson bang the window one more time, then nodded, and made to leave, shedding his surgical gown and gloves on the way out. Dr. Scalia shook his head. Normally, it was Dr. House who would behave so irrationally. But today, he had just been standing quietly in the corner, watching. He hadn't complained about the surgical technique, hadn't made any snide remarks – hadn't said anything at all, actually. If Dr. House were like that every day, they might actually get along.

But it seemed that whatever bug was normally up House's ass had been transferred over to Wilson. Dr. Scalia went back to his surgery and hoped House would work it all out with Wilson.

* * *

On his way upstairs, House ran into Erica at the elevator.

"Greg!" She rushed over to him and hugged him. He allowed her to, for a moment. Then they got on the elevator. "They said he was in Operating Room number three. And that there's an observation room I can watch from?"

House nodded. "I'm headed there now. Was just in the surgery with him." He waited for the elevator doors to open, then started walking down the hall.

Erica fell into step with House. "I dropped the other kids off at home. His foster mom's on her way, as soon as her husband gets home to watch the kids. Was he scared?"

House paused. "Yeah...but he's fine now. He's going to be just fine. They're halfway done, too."

The two stopped at the entrance to the observation deck. House said nervously, "Um...Wilson's in there. And he's kind of mad. I was...coming up here to talk to him."

"Okay..." Erica really wasn't sure why that mattered at all. House sighed, and pushed open the door.

Wilson looked over at the door, his face dark.

"How dare you turn off the intercom, House?"

House stayed by the door, not sure if he should get any closer to Wilson. He was starting to have deja vu. Erica pushed past him and stood in front of the observation window, ignoring the two men.

"I didn't turn it off...the surgeon did. You were being disruptive, Wilson."

Wilson laughed. "_I_ am not the disruptive one. _I_ am the caring, sensitive one. _You_ are the one who gets in trouble with the other doctors here."

House nodded calmly. "Maybe so, but this time _you_ were distracting them from doing their job. They asked me to come up here to get you to shut up."

Wilson was furious. "I just can't believe you had me believing you were hurt!"

House shook his head. "_What_ are you talking about?"

"They said you came in to the ER. They said you were in surgery. What are you _doing_ here? What's _she_ doing here?" he asked, not quite managing to maintain his previous politeness toward Erica.

"Alex's appendix was inflamed. He's having it removed now. He was with us when we discovered it."

"Dr. House probably saved his life," Erica interjected. House blushed. His job was to save lives, but he found it awkward when other people pointed out what he did as if he were some sort of hero.

Wilson noticed the blush, and for the first time, realized that he wanted to be alone with House. "Can I talk to you alone, House?"

House sighed, but stepped back out into the hall, holding the door for Wilson. He hoped the small act might calm Wilson down a bit.

"House...I know you don't understand this, but I _worry_ about you. And you nearly gave me a heart attack today. Why didn't you call last night?"

House looked down and mumbled, "I forgot."

House looked so tired and dejected that Wilson found his anger lessening. "Okay. But _please_ call me the next time."

House nodded. "I will, Wilson, really. I was going to call you as soon as Alex was out of surgery, anyway."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to make you worry...again. I asked Erica yesterday if I could spend the weekend, but I guess I forgot to tell _you_...I was too busy trying to get _away_ from you," he finished sheepishly.

Wilson's eyes grew wide.

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

House fiddled with his cane.

"Why, House?" Wilson prodded gently.

House sighed. "I didn't want to talk about...what you wanted to talk about," he replied cryptically. Wilson knew exactly what he meant.

"I'm sorry I pushed you farther than you wanted...but I did stop."

House looked up at Wilson. "I know. And thank you. I just...didn't know how long your recharge period was going to be. You know, before you brought it all up again."

Ah.

Wilson palmed the back of his neck. "Okay. Look, we've obviously got to make some changes. I will promise never to talk about anything serious if you promise to let me know where you are so I don't call the missing person hotline."

House laughed. "Deal. Now can I get back in there? Erica just got here, and she's probably worried."

"Yeah, sure. So what happened? Did he suddenly just get sick?"

"Seems that way, though he might have been hiding it for a while. He's pretty quiet. Hard to say."

"If you don't mind, I'll wait with you guys. But I have to go see a man about a horse first."

House nodded as he pushed the door back open. "See you in there."

Erica looked away from the window when House came back in. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just Wilson being a girl."

"So what was really going on with Wilson that made you want to stay with me?"

House rolled his eyes. "Now _you_ want to talk about this, too?"

"Talk about what? I barely know anything about you."

House wanted to say, _Good!_, but stopped himself. "What is it you want to know?"

"Well, first of all...how serious is it between you and Wilson?"

House's mouth dropped open. "_There's nothing going on between me and Wilson!_"

Erica narrowed her eyes. "If there's nothing going on, why are you yelling? And why was Wilson so upset? Why did you keep talking about Wilson this morning?"

"I wasn't – what do you mean?"

Erica imitated House. "Wilson makes me coffee in the morning. Wilson lets me eat all his chips. Wilson shares his underwear with me." The last was off the top of her head, but that's what it had felt like. Erica tried to smile at House, to let him know she was only teasing.

House frowned. "He _does_ make me coffee in the morning. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. But don't you see _why_ he does all those things for you?"

House didn't know what to say. Fortunately for him, the intercom snapped on.

"Dr. House, we're closing up now. Is that the mom? He should be awake and ready for visitors in about an hour."

House banged on the intercom switch. "No, but she's on her way. I'll get the message to her."

Erica turned to him. "Let's go check the ER waiting area. She might be here already."

House nodded, glad she was distracted from the previous conversation. Except...

"We have to wait for Wilson," he mumbled.

Erica's eyes flashed, but she didn't say anything.

"You could go ahead down," he offered. "I'll stay here and let him know."

A thought came to Erica. "You know what? You go ahead down. I'll let him know."

She watched House nod and limp to the door. She was going to have a little talk with Wilson, and find out what was really going on.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Again, sorry it's been so long. We are finally at The Big Breakup! Rejoice, oh ye Hilson fans. This story should be wrapping up pretty soon.**

* * *

Wilson returned to the observation room to find House already gone. He looked at Erica inquisitively.

"James, Greg says to let you know that he went down to the ER to find Alex's mom."

Wilson looked down into the OR. They were closing Alex up. "Oh. Okay."

Erica took a deep breath. "I just wanted to...have a quick chat with you. It seems your name comes up in every conversation I have with Greg."

Wilson tried to hide his smile. So House _did_ think of him often. "Oh?"

"Yes. And lately I've been wondering if I'm...intruding on something that was already going on."

Wilson was floored. It had taken him years to discover what Erica apparently caught in a manner of weeks. He didn't know what to say.

"Am I?" Erica pressed on. "Am I getting in the way of something between you two?"

Wilson wavered. If he said no, he'd be lying. But if he said yes, he would destroy a relationship that actually made House happy. He took a deep breath and looked at Erica.

* * *

House made his way down to the ER lobby. He realized he didn't even know Alex's last name, much less the name of his foster mother. He sighed. Sometimes he wished he didn't have some of the responsibilities associated with being a successful doctor. He was usually able to have his team act as a buffer for most of them, but he couldn't see that working today.

When he got to the ER, he asked the triage nurse if Alex's guardian had shown up. He figured the nurse would recognize him, and maybe know some last names.

"Oh, sure, Mrs. Henry is right over there in chairs." She pointed to a middle-aged woman in jeans and a t-shirt, who looked surprisingly calm given the situation.

House nodded. "Thanks." He walked over to the woman.

"Mrs. Henry?"

She looked up from the magazine she was reading, not entirely sure who this guy was – he sounded confident, like he might be a doctor, but looked like a hobo had who wandered in off the street. Whoever it was, he needed a shave.

"I'm Doctor House. I drove Alex here from Erica's place."

Mrs. Henry relaxed a bit. So he _was_ a doctor. She held out her hand. "Jill Henry."

House reluctantly shook it, then launched into his spiel. "Alex is coming out of surgery right now. They were able to do the surgery laparoscopically, which means he can probably go home in a few days. He should be getting to post-op in a few minutes, and he'll wake up within an hour. If you want, I can find out what room they're taking him to, and show you the way."

She nodded and got up to follow House. House walked up to the ER desk and asked the nurse to look up Alex's room number.

"He's in 319," she told him politely. Clearly this particular nurse didn't know House very well. He often got the cold shoulder, or was told where he could stuff it, when he tried to talk to the nurses. His reputation did precede him, and it was a reputation he tried hard to maintain – but today, he was glad for its absence.

"Thanks," he muttered, and gestured to Mrs. Henry to follow him to the elevator.

The two found room 319, and House allowed Mrs. Henry to sit in the lone chair as they waited awkwardly together for Alex to wake up. Leaning against the wall, House fished out his phone and texted Erica "rm 319." He had no idea how to make conversation with this perfect stranger, but as she did not appear to be trying to talk, either, he felt a little better.

Alex was still out when Erica found the room. Wilson wasn't with her, and House wondered if he had gone home.

Erica and Mrs. Henry exchanged pleasantries as House looked on. At this point he wasn't even sure whether he should be in the room. After all, he barely knew this kid. He felt like he was in the way, and his leg was screaming from all of the standing and walking. He was about to try to make an exit when Alex opened his eyes.

All three adults looked at Alex, and he looked back up at them. Mrs. Henry smiled.

"Well, Alex, you no longer have an appendix. How do you feel?"

Alex blinked a few times, then croaked out, "Fine."

House smiled. Here was a kid after his own heart. He could be a great poker player – never revealed anything to anyone. And he didn't annoy everyone with pointless conversation.

"You should be able to get out of here in a few days. You have any questions?"

Alex shook his head. Softly, he said, "Sorry I caused so much trouble."

House was taken aback. "You didn't _cause_ any trouble, kid. Your appendix did. It's a good thing we caught it when we did. If it had burst, it could have been a _whole_ lot more trouble."

Alex said nothing. House pushed on.

"You have to let someone know if you're feeling sick, Alex. Don't just keep it to yourself."

"Okay," Alex whispered.

House wondered what Alex had gone through in his short life to make him so stoic. At least John House would have been concerned if Greg's appendix was inflamed. Did Alex have someone in his life who would have gotten angry at him for having a legitimate medical issue?

"You did good, Alex. You were very brave," House told the boy, before he could stop himself. What was he doing? He didn't talk to patients! And he certainly didn't _compliment_ patients. He decided that it was _definitely_ time to leave.

"I'm going to head home. You two have any more questions before I go?" he asked Erica and Mrs. Henry.

"No, thank you so much, Dr. House," said Mrs. Henry.

Erica looked at House for the first time since she had found the room. She wore a funny expression.

"I'll call you later, Greg," she said in an odd voice. House wondered if something was going on, but simply nodded and walked out. He slowly made his way down the hall, thinking that he should go find some lunch...or dinner. What time was it, anyway? He looked at his watch. It was already five o'clock! He literally hadn't eaten all day. He pressed the elevator button, picturing pizza and hamburgers and tacos. He was going to have to eat dinner before he did anything else.

"Greg," a soft voice from behind him said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned around. It was Erica.

"Hey," he said, smiling. "I was just going to get some dinner. Wanna come?"

She shook her head. "We...need to talk. When...when you confronted Wilson about being jealous, you gave me the impression that even though _he_ was interested in _you_, _you_ weren't interested in _him_. I just need to know if that's true."

House squinted. "Why? What brings this up right now?"

Erica fidgeted. "I just want to make sure this is what you want. Us, I mean. I want to make sure I'm not getting in between you and Wilson."

"I'm interested in you, not Wilson," House said. Inside, he was thinking, _everybody lies._

Erica took in the way House's eyes were shifting around. "Listen, I had a talk with Wilson today. He seemed to think you _were_ interested in him."

House shook his head. "You believed him?"

Erica hesitated. "It's just...you talk about him _all the time_. And you live together. And you've known him for so long. Even I can see there's something going on there. I would feel horrible if I got in the way."

"You're not in the way," he protested feebly, eyes on his sneakers.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that," she demanded.

House took a deep breath and looked into Erica's eyes. Damn, she was like his mother – a human lie detector. He opened his mouth to deny her accusations again, but found he just couldn't get the words out. Erica watched him struggle, and found herself becoming sad. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"It's okay. I understand. Wilson's a lucky guy." She withdrew her hand and walked back toward Alex's room.

House wanted to protest; run after her screaming that it wasn't true. He had _nothing_ with Wilson. He had something with Erica. Maybe it wasn't the exact something he wanted, but it was better than nothing. Instead, he just watched Erica disappear into the patient room. Behind him, he heard the elevator ding as the doors opened, but he ignored it. House stood in front of the elevator for ten minutes as people wandered on and off. They all stared at him, but he didn't notice. He was too busy trying to process what had just happened, and what he was feeling. He didn't know if he was angry, sad, or relieved.

* * *

Wilson stirred the meat distractedly. He wondered what Erica would do now that they had talked. Did Erica even believe Wilson? And if she did, what would she do about it?

House could be home any second, or it could be hours, depending on how things went between him and Erica.

Wilson rinsed off the bell peppers, then heard a key unlocking the door. So House was home already. He threw the peppers onto the cutting board without drying them, wiped his wet hands off on his pants, and went to see what kind of a mood House was in.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I swear I did not intend for this to become a kid!fic, nor is it one! Just bear with me...**

* * *

House walked in and sat on the couch, dazed. Wilson sat down next to him and looked at his lap, waiting for the eruption.

There was none.

House simply asked Wilson in a quiet voice, "Did you tell Erica I was interested in you?"

Wilson weighed his options. He could lie, but he had already gone this far. Might as well let House know the entire truth, and leave the decision up to House. He answered in one word. "Yes."

For a long, long moment, House said nothing. He didn't move a muscle. Wilson's heart started pounding rapidly as he wondered what was about to happen. Finally, House got up and walked over to the kitchen.

"What are you making?" he asked.

Wilson gaped at him. Wasn't he going to get mad? Wasn't he going to yell that Wilson had no right to interfere with his life? He struggled to answer House. "Umm...stuffed peppers. Did you want one?"

House nodded. Then, not wanting to engage in a conversation, he grabbed his acoustic guitar and sat down with it, playing some gentle arpeggios. Wilson went back to work in the kitchen, listening to the delicate music. The two spent their evening together without exchanging another word.

* * *

At work the next day, House sent his team off to run tests, then grabbed his cane. There was a stop he wanted to make. He couldn't very well call Erica and ask how Alex was doing, but he could sneak off and visit his room at the hospital. Even though he and Alex had never really talked, House felt a growing attachment to the boy. He reminded House a lot of himself. And Alex's room was a great place to avoid Wilson. House knew he needed to talk to Wilson more than their non-discussion last night, but was still sorting out exactly what he felt.

House peeked into Alex's room before walking in. He wanted to make sure nobody else was there. There was nobody, and Alex was struggling to write in his little notepad. House briefly wondered what it was that Alex was always writing.

"Hey," he said, trying not to startle Alex.

Alex looked up, surprised at being interrupted. He hadn't heard anybody come in. When he saw that it was House, the corners of his mouth twitched up, as if trying to smile.

"How are you feeling today?" House asked in his best approximation of good bedside manner. To his surprise, Alex answered.

"Much better." He hesitated, as if debating whether to say something else.

"Are you sure?" House asked, wondering if Alex was lying about feeling better.

Alex nodded slightly against the pillow. "Definitely. It doesn't hurt anymore. Um...Dr. House..."

House eased into the guest chair and propped his cane against the windowsill. "Yeah?"

"Um...I wanted to...to tell you that...um..."

House wondered what the boy was having so much trouble saying. He decided to give Alex some time, and pretended to study Alex's chart in the meantime. Finally, Alex blurted it out.

"Thank you for taking me to the hospital yesterday," he said sincerely.

House looked up from the chart, intrigued. "The alternative wasn't looking that good, kid. Didn't really have much of a choice."

Alex looked away, as if that would end the conversation. House had a feeling so much more was going on under the kid's quiet exterior than anybody realized. He decided to give the kid a break and change the subject.

"Why does this chart say you tore out your stitches this morning?"

Alex made a show of rolling his eyes, but was actually relieved at the new topic. "I just sat up too quickly. It didn't hurt."

"If you're not careful, it's going to take you longer to recover."

"That's exactly what my foster mom said," Alex said grumpily.

"Well maybe you should listen to her. Did they say when they're springing you out of here?"

"They said I could go home tonight if I don't make any more stupid moves."

House laughed. "Good. That's a good sign. It means you're recovering normally. But remember, when you get out, you still have to take it easy for a few weeks."

"I know, I know." Alex suddenly looked to the door of his room. House followed his gaze and saw a familiar woman walking in. It was Mrs. Henry.

"Oh, Dr. House! How nice of you to check on Alex," she said.

House was suddenly embarrassed. "Well, he's sort of my patient..."

Mrs. Henry just smiled and turned to Alex. "Listen, I've got the kids with me. They all wanted to see you, even though I told them you're getting out tonight. Do you think you're up to it?"

Alex shrugged. "Sure."

"Great! I'll call them in. Oh, and hey – they made you some gifts. I know they're not exactly from your top ten Christmas list, but try to pretend you like them, okay?"

Alex almost smiled. "I'll try."

Mrs. Henry disappeared for a minute, and House raised an eyebrow. "So do you give your brothers and sisters the silent treatment, too, or is that reserved for strangers like me?"

"I talk. When I have something to say."

"Ah. Wise man, actually." House was being sincere.

"And they're not my real brothers and sisters."

House brought his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "My bad."

The kids ran in and surrounded Alex. Benjie couldn't wait to impress him with his gift.

"Look!" he exclaimed, holding up what looked to be a ratty Band-aid. "I colored it with spaceships and dinosaurs. It's for your cut."

Alex gingerly took the Band-aid and looked at it. It had been removed from the wrapper to allow Benjie to color it, but the tabs were still affixed to the sticky side. It was theoretically usable, although there was no way it would be adequate for his appendix scar.

"How about I save it for later? I'd hate to use it up now, because then it would be gone. It's so cool, I want to save it for a special occasion." Alex gently lay the Band-aid on the nightstand, and Benjie beamed.

House was shocked that Alex could be so diplomatic.

Katie went next. "I colored you a picture," she told Alex happily. She handed over a picture of a very pink looking princess.

"Beautiful," Alex said, managing not to roll his eyes. Mrs. Henry grabbed it and looked around.

"I'll go find some tape, and we can put it up on the wall until Alex gets discharged, sweetie," she said. Katie nodded, and Mrs. Henry slipped out to the nurse's station to see whether they had any tape.

Jeanine reached into her pocket and pulled out her gift. It was a pen with a bank logo on it that she had apparently swiped. "I know you write a lot, so I wanted to make sure you had a pen."

"Thanks!" Alex exclaimed, putting down his own pencil and taking Jeanine's pen. She smiled.

Portia shyly approached Alex's bed. "I got you a new R.L. Stine book with my own money," she said, revealing the book from behind her back.

"Thank you so much, guys!" Alex said. He turned the book over in his hands, reading the blurb on the back.

"So did they cut you open?" asked Portia.

Alex put the book down and nodded. "Yeah, and I have a scar. Wanna see?"

House stifled a laugh as four voices eagerly stated their assent. Alex made sure his blanket was covering him up to the waist, then pulled his hospital gown to the side. He carefully pulled back the gauze and tape as House supervised.

"Cool!" cried Portia. Jeanine peeked, then hid behind Portia. Benjie and Katie just stared. Finally, House cleared his throat.

"We should probably get that covered back up before it gets infected." He looked around for supplies and found none. He hit the call button. "This is Dr. House. Can I get some gauze and tape in room 319?"

A moment later, Mrs. Henry returned with Scotch tape, medical tape, and gauze. "They said you asked for these?" she asked House, handing over the gauze and tape.

House laid them on the nightstand and removed Alex's old gauze. "Just wanted to change out his dressing," he said.

Mrs. Henry nodded and set about taping up Katie's picture. House quickly changed Alex's gauze, then stood back awkwardly.

"Well, I just wanted to stop by and see how he was doing..." he started, hoping to politely excuse himself.

"Dr. House, can we see what you do here? I want to see what your office looks like!" Portia interrupted enthusiastically. House looked at Mrs. Henry, who shrugged.

"I have to get them home soon, but I did want to talk to Alex's doctor...maybe you could give them a tour while we do that?"

House hesitated. He was not really the "take kids on a field trip" type. On the other hand, he _did_ work here, he actually knew these particular kids, and they actually seemed interested in where he worked. What could go wrong?

"Okay," he said. "We'll just go up to my office, maybe see the clinic, then be right back."

"I want to go," protested Alex. House shook his head.

"Not today, buddy. You shouldn't be moving around that much right now. But how about I give you a rain check? When you're stronger, come by any time." He leaned in to whisper in Alex's ear. "I'll even let you watch t.v. in my office."

Alex sighed. "Promise?"

House nodded. "Okay guys, come on. We've got to be back down here soon so you can go home and let Alex rest for a few hours. Otherwise he may have to stay another night."

The four children solemnly followed House out into the hall. They got on the elevator, and House saw them looking around.

"It's so big," Jeanine whispered. House smiled.

"That's because they have to be able to fit patients on gurneys into the elevator."

"What's that?" asked Benjie.

"It's kind of like a bed that moves." The elevator dinged and the doors opened. House looked down the hall to his office, and saw Wilson just as he went inside House's conference room. Thinking quickly, House pressed the "Close Door" button, and selected a random floor. He did not want to talk to Wilson, and he especially didn't want to explain why he was toting four kids behind him. Wilson would think it was cute.

"Why'd we stop at this floor if we weren't getting off?" Portia asked.

House thought quickly. "Um...because I wanted you guys to see how fast I can get from my office to..." He looked at the floor he had selected and mentally smacked himself. "...the morgue," he finished weakly.

"What's that?" Jeanine asked. House breathed a sigh of relief. If they didn't know what it was, maybe he could evade the topic.

"It's just...another floor of the hospital," he answered vaguely. The three younger children seemed to accept that, but Portia apparently knew more than they did.

"Can we go see a cadaver?" she asked excitedly. House looked at her in shock.

"Where do you even _learn_ this stuff?" he asked. She shrugged.

"School. Books. So can we?"

House gripped his cane tightly. "I don't think that's the best idea...you're kind of young. Wouldn't you rather go down to the clinic? If you're good, you can usually sucker them into giving you a lollipop..."

"What's a cadaver?" Katie broke in. Portia answered before House could.

"It's a dead body, and they use it to test stuff on and learn about bodies. They're cool."

"Cool," Benjie repeated. The other two just looked at Portia in fascination.

"Dr. House, pleeeease? It would be so cool, and all the kids at school would be jealous."

House grinned. He remembered being ten, and he knew that seeing a cadaver would have been the coolest thing in the world at that age. "Are you sure they'll be okay with it?" he asked, gesturing to the younger kids.

Portia nodded enthusiastically. "Right guys?"

The other three affirmed that they would be fine. House sighed, and when the elevator arrived, he allowed them off. He led them to a door and punched in a code on the electronic lock. He swung the door open, and to his surprise, found there was already a cadaver on the examining table. He picked up Benjie so that the kid could see better, then flung off the cover with a flourish.

The scream was so unexpected that it took House a moment to even figure out where it came from. By the time he had matched the scream to Katie, and began to wonder how such a small kid could make such a loud sound, she had already run out of the room and down the hall. He handed his cane to Portia.

"Hold this," he demanded, then opened the door with his free hand and looked down the hall. Katie was nowhere to be found. Shit. In his arm, Benjie had buried his head in House's shoulder and was loudly crying. Jeanine looked white as a sheet. If he hadn't been holding Benjie, he might have taken off, too. He probably shouldn't have trusted the word of a ten year old that the kids would be fine.

"Katie?" he called down the hall. There was no answer. House thought quickly. If he had been alone, he would likely have tried to search for her himself. There was no way he could run an effective search with three little kids under his supervision. He had to get the kids back up to their foster mom, then start a hospital search. He grimaced at the idea of explaining to Cuddy that he had _lost_ a six year old, but bravely limped over to the elevator.

"We're going back to Alex's room, then the grown-ups are going to find Katie. Got it?" he asked the kids. Portia nodded. Benjie was still crying, and now Jeanine had started too. House had definitely not intended to fill his day with crying children. The four of them got onto the elevator, and rode it back up to Alex's floor. Except for some sobs, all three children were remarkably quiet.

The gang got off of the elevator, and began to slowly make their way to room 319. They hadn't gone ten yards when they ran smack into Wilson.

Wilson quickly took in the silent, crying kids, and House's grim expression.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked. House shook his head.


	18. Chapter 18

The kids looked up at Wilson hopefully, but were all too frightened to say anything about what was going on. House almost wished one of them would blurt out what had happened. That way he wouldn't have to be the one to tell Wilson that he had lost a kid.

He had lost a kid. In his own hospital. What kind of grown man loses somebody else's kid? For that matter, what kind of idiot would show a six year old a dead body? House shifted his weight to get a better grip on Benjie, and tried to get him to stop crying by rubbing his back. It didn't seem to work. He avoided Wilson's confused look and concentrated on Benjie for a few minutes, whispering what he hoped were comforting sounds. Finally, he came to his senses. The longer he stalled, the longer Katie was going to be wandering around, getting into potentially bad places. House took a deep breath.

"I lost Katie," he told Wilson.

"You...what?" Wilson looked at House as if the words just wouldn't process.

House sighed. "I let the kids look at a cadaver. _I know_," he said, taking in Wilson's horrified expression. "I'm a moron, I know. But I did, and she got scared, and ran off. I need help. We need to find her."

Wilson stood frozen in place, staring at House, for about thirty seconds. Then he sprang into action.

"Come on," he said firmly. Wilson led them all back to room 319, where Jeanine ran in, grabbing Mrs. Henry's hand. Portia followed more slowly, staying tentatively by the door. House didn't want to go in at all. Wilson gently pushed House toward the door.

"Get in there and let Jill know what's going on. I'll go tell Cuddy."

House shook his head. "Who's Jill?"

"_Jill Henry_, House. Their foster mom. She's standing right there."

House looked into the room to see a totally confused looking Mrs. Henry trying to comfort Jeanine. "How do you know her name?"

Exasperated, Wilson threw his hands up. "We met that Saturday when we babysat, remember?"

"Oh yeah." House took a deep breath, made sure he had a good hold on Benjie, and walked toward the door.

"I'll be right back," Wilson called after him. "Don't go anywhere!"

The only place House really wanted to go was a deep, dark hole where he could hide from everybody. Unfortunately, it was not to be. As Wilson rushed away to find Cuddy, House slowly approached Mrs. Henry.

"What happened?" she mouthed.

House sighed. "I...lost Katie."

A range of emotions flitted onto Mrs. Henry's face. House could tell she was restraining herself from saying some things that children shouldn't be witness to.

"Come here, Benjie," she said quietly, reaching for the five year old. House reluctantly handed him over. Benjie was one of the few people who didn't currently appear to hate his guts. It was a little disconcerting to see him go, even if he was still crying.

Mrs. Henry looked at Dr. House, trying to figure him out. At first she had liked him a lot – he had babysat the kids on short notice, he had diagnosed Alex and gotten him to the hospital safely. He had taken the time to talk to her about Alex. But how could anybody lose a child? She wanted to run out of the room and find that sweet girl, but now wasn't sure if she should leave the other kids alone with Dr. House.

House stood awkwardly, looking very ashamed. He had no idea what to say or do that would break the silence. Alex kept a nervous gaze on House, even though he was pretending not to. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Wilson came back, toting Cuddy behind him.

"Mrs. Henry, I'm Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine," she introduced herself, taking charge. While Cuddy and Mrs. Henry exchanged pleasantries, Wilson gently pushed House back into the hallway.

"Come on, let's go back down to the morgue and start looking there. Cuddy's putting together some teams, too."

House eagerly followed, his relief at being away from the angry and disappointed Mrs. Henry overwhelming any reluctance he had to be around Wilson.

The two rode the elevator down, and stepped out. There was still no sign of Katie, nor had any hospital employees been assigned to search the floor yet.

"Where did you last see her?" Wilson asked.

House led Wilson to the room. His hand was shaking, and his gait was wobbly. Wilson noticed that House wasn't physically at his best.

"Hey, where's your cane?" he asked gently.

House looked genuinely confused, as if he hadn't realized it was gone until then. "I guess Portia still has it..."

Wilson had no idea why Portia would have the cane, but let it slide. He touched House's arm softly. When House looked down at Wilson's hand, Wilson whispered, "It's going to be okay. Don't worry. It's going to be fine."

_Easy for you to say_, House thought. Wilson hadn't lost any kids today.

Wilson rubbed House's arm, then left him alone for a moment while he searched the corners and crevices of the morgue. House hadn't thought to look _in_ the room – he had heard the door open and close, and just assumed Katie had left. A few minutes of searching yielded no results, though, and both men dejectedly walked back out.

They paced up and down the hallway, looking in every room as they went, but found nothing.

"She must have gotten on the elevator," House suggested glumly.

"Really? You think a six year old could do that?"

House nodded. "She was very impressed by the fact that the elevator could fit so many people. She probably got on it. She could be anywhere by now, on any floor."

Wilson suddenly had an idea. "Cuddy could have them check the security tapes. That would tell us if she got on, and where she got off."

"Yeah, but by the time they did, she could be somewhere else entirely."

"I'm still going to suggest it," Wilson said as the two stepped into the elevator. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed, as House stared at the buttons. He decided to start at the top and work down, and hit the button for the roof. Wilson finished his call to Cuddy.

"She told Mrs. Henry the whole story," he told House. "I guess she's pretty pissed about the morgue thing."

House groaned. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Actually, it hadn't, but House hadn't stopped to think logically for long enough to come up with a better idea. He wondered how Benjie and Jeanine were doing. House was no Santa Claus, but he had rarely made children cry. He felt like a schmuck.

Wilson could tell House felt bad. Even though he thought House had been a complete moron, he didn't like to see his friend so down about things. It was really just an accident. Hopefully an accident with a happy ending, although it worried Wilson that Katie hadn't been found yet. Kids got lost all the time, though – it happened even to the best of parents.

"Everybody makes mistakes, House," Wilson said. He couldn't think of a less cheesy way to open the conversation.

House wasn't in the mood to talk about his mistakes. For the first time, he realized he was alone with Wilson. He was basically stuck in an elevator with Wilson, the last person he had wanted to see today. He remembered the _reason_ he didn't want to see Wilson, and decided that now was as good a time as any to hash things out.

"You scared Erica away," House accused.

Wilson was taken aback. How had they gone from Wilson comforting House to House arguing with Wilson? "I...what makes you think that?"

"She basically _told_ me, Wilson. Why? Why did you do that? Why couldn't you leave well enough alone and just let me be happy?"

Wilson thought for a moment. The elevator arrived and Wilson stepped out, one foot in the door to keep the elevator from closing. He was blocking House in.

"Were you? Were you actually happy?"

House looked at Wilson for a second, then let his gaze slide to the floor. "I could have been. Eventually."

Wilson nodded, then stepped back to let House pass. That was enough of an answer for him.

The two men checked the roof in silence, but found no small children. House stopped for a minute to look over the balcony, wishing he could stay up here in this peaceful place for a while. He knew he should be angry at Wilson, but found he couldn't dredge up that particular emotion. Still, he couldn't drop the subject.

"Erica actually wanted to be with me, Wilson. She thought I was charming. She thought I was hot."

"I'm sure lots of people have thought you're charming and hot, House," Wilson said, rolling his eyes.

House's silence rang louder inside Wilson's head than any words would have. Did House think that he _wasn't_ those things? Wilson was astonished. The two walked back to the elevator and leaned against opposite walls. Wilson was about to press another button when his phone beeped an incoming text message. _FOUND KATIE. TELL HOUSE._

Wilson grinned. "Cuddy says they found her."

House slumped against the wall of the elevator in relief. They rode the elevator back to Alex's floor, and Wilson gave House an encouraging smile.

"Come on, the sooner you face the music, the sooner you can get back to work."

House definitely did not want to face any music. Mrs. Henry had been mad enough about just losing Katie; now that she knew the rest of the story, she would probably be furious. And then there was Cuddy to deal with. House was used to being written up on the job, but it was one more hassle to get through.

They reached Alex's room. Jeanine had calmed down somewhat, and was sitting on the bed with Alex, watching cartoons on the t.v. Alex looked exhausted. House imagined that the emotional stress of the last thirty minutes would exhaust anyone, even a healthy thirteen year old boy. Portia was scrunched in the corner of the room, arms holding her knees to her chest, eyes glazed over. Mrs. Henry was still holding Benjie, who had apparently cried himself to sleep. Cuddy was sitting in the visitor's chair with Katie on her lap.

"Where was she?" House asked quietly.

"They found her wandering around the ICU. She must have ridden the elevator up."

House looked at Wilson as if to say, _I told you so!_ Cuddy stood up.

"Mrs. Henry is going to take the four younger kids home, then come back tonight when Alex is discharged. She will let me know then if she wants to file any sort of complaint against the hospital." Cuddy glared at House as she spoke. "Meet me in my office, House. I'll be down there in five minutes."

House started to walk out, then felt his wobbly leg trying to give way beneath him. He remembered that he had given Portia his cane. He looked around the room, but didn't see it.

"Portia, do you still have my cane?" he asked. She didn't answer. House looked at her more closely. She hadn't even turned her head. "Portia?" he said, a bit louder this time.

Now everybody noticed when she didn't respond. Mrs. Henry walked over to the girl. "Sweetie, what's the matter?"

House started to approach the girl as well, but Cuddy stopped him. "Get. Out." she said through gritted teeth. House froze. "Now!" she demanded.

House finally turned and left the room. Clearly Portia had been more upset by the whole ordeal than he had thought, but there was no way he would be allowed to get close to her to find out the whole story. He made his way to Cuddy's office, wincing as his leg protested loudly. Her office was locked, so he took a seat in the Clinic and closed his eyes. He figured he would hear her when she got there.

In just a few minutes he managed to doze off, the stress of the day making him fatigued. Wilson walked into the clinic and found him lightly snoring. He took the chair next to House and watched the older man sleep for a few moments. He looked so much more peaceful when he was asleep. He softly called out, "House. House, wake up."

House did, looking around in confusion. How had he managed to fall asleep in the Clinic waiting area, of all places? He looked over to Cuddy's office, but the door was still closed.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked.

Wilson shook his head. "Not long. You've only been up here a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

House rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm okay. I wasn't the one who was lost, Katie was. I'm a grown man; I can manage to get onto an elevator and get where I want to go without any problem."

"Okay. How's your leg?"

House was almost in agony due to his leg, but he wasn't about to let Wilson know that. "It's fine."

"I looked in 319. Your cane wasn't anywhere."

"Portia must have left it in the morgue. Or maybe on the elevator, but we would have seen it there." House woke up a bit more. "How is she?"

"Katie's fine. She wasn't even crying when Cuddy found her. I'm not even sure she ever realized she was lost – it sounded like she was having fun riding the elevator."

"No, not Katie. Portia."

Wilson finally caught up to House's thought process. "Ohh...well, that's why Cuddy's not here yet. They're both trying to talk Portia down. Apparently she thinks the whole thing was her fault."

House scowled. "Why on earth would she think that?"

Wilson palmed the back of his neck. "I guess because she was the one who asked to see the cadaver?"

"Yeah, but I was the one who said 'yes.' And pushed the damn button in the elevator."

"She'll be fine, House."

"I should talk to her," House said unhappily.

"She's got two great women talking to her right now. I'm sure there's nothing you could say that they're not already saying."

House just stared at his hands. Wilson stared at House in such an unhappy mood and couldn't help himself. He put his hand on House's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Everything turned out fine, House. Nobody was hurt. Relax."

House stiffened and leaned away from Wilson's touch. Stubbornly, Wilson kept his hand right where it was. "Really, House. Please believe me."

"Okay," House said in a voice that made it clear to Wilson that nothing was actually okay.

"The kids are fine," Wilson repeated.

House nodded, still extremely tense. "Okay."

"Cuddy's just going to come yell at you for five minutes, maybe write you up, then she'll forget all about it too."

"Right."

Wilson stared at House. It was as if House was just pretending to participate in this conversation; just saying what he thought Wilson wanted to hear.

"Are you really okay, House?"

House hesitated. He was grateful that Wilson was here with him, being supporting. Grateful that Wilson had been with him every step of the way since he had been made aware of the situation. House didn't want Wilson to leave, but he wasn't sure how to politely tell the other man what was really bothering him, without insulting Wilson. He decided it wasn't worth losing Wilson over.

"I'm fine," was all he said. Wilson didn't believe him for one second, and started rubbing circles on House's back. House gritted his teeth. He had to say something; he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Wilson..." House began, but then clammed up. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Yes?"

House took a deep breath. "Could you...never mind."

"What is it, House? What do you need?" Wilson kept rubbing and looked House in the eye.

"Could you...please stop touching me?" House looked down, away from Wilson's steady gaze. Now Wilson would think he didn't want him there. He would leave. Wilson had abandoned House before, but this time it would be his fault. Well, he guessed it was his fault the last time, as well. After all, House _had_ killed Amber.

Wilson immediately removed his hand, shocked. _That_ was what was bothering House? House remained tense, but whispered, "Thank you."

Wilson couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Is it because you don't want people seeing us touching? We weren't doing anything wrong, House."

House just stared at the floor and shook his head.

"Then what's the problem? I –" Wilson stopped talked when he saw Cuddy. She was standing outside her office door and fishing around for her keys. House followed Wilson's gaze and then jumped up.

"Time to face the music," he said, almost cheerfully. At this point he would happily do Clinic duty if it would get him out of this conversation with Wilson.

"She can wait five minutes, House," Wilson protested. House was already hobbling toward Cuddy's office. He didn't stop or turn around for Wilson. Cuddy got the door open, saw House, and held it for him. He gratefully rushed into her office as fast as his leg would allow, and breathed a sigh of relief when Cuddy shut the door behind her.

House took a seat and waited for Cuddy to make it around to her desk. When he finally caught a glimpse of her face, his heart began pounding just a little more quickly. Cuddy looked _mad_.

"Let's talk, House," she said.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: So, so sorry for the lengthy update time. I am a teacher, and our school year started two weeks ago (yeah, rez schools start EARLY!), and my two summer classes for my masters are still not finished...I have been very busy, and still am. I'm actually procrastinating my final papers right now. I'm also working on another fic (have been for several months, actually), which unlike "...Rose" is almost finished...I'd like to start posting it. I wanted to finish "...Rose" first, but now I'm not sure because this fic is taking SO LONG! So we'll see. There may be a new fic coming from me very soon.**

**CHAPTER WARNING: References to child abuse.**

**

* * *

**

"What were you thinking?" Cuddy began. "What part of your brain could _possibly_ have thought that it would be even _remotely_ okay to take a group of children down to the _morgue_?"

House had no answer. He just looked down and fidgeted.

"Well?" Cuddy pushed on. "What were you thinking? These children have already been through traumatic experiences, if you recall. They did not need a supposedly responsible adult giving them _more_ reasons to have nightmares and be maladjusted. Who knows what kind of therapy that poor little girl is going to need now."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Cuddy closed her mouth, shocked. She could not remember the last time she had heard House apologize – if ever. Any other response would have made her more angry, but at this she deflated a bit. She wasn't sure what to say.

"Mrs. Henry has said she's not going to press charges," she said.

House knew he was supposed to feel good about that, but no wave of relief passed through him. Maybe she _should_ press charges. Maybe there should be some new rules about him being around children. It seemed like no matter his intentions, he just ended up causing a lot of damage.

"How is Portia?" he asked softly.

Cuddy was surprised for the second time in two minutes. He was asking about the welfare of somebody else? He was actually _interested_ in another person's feelings?

"She's fine. We told her it wasn't her fault; that it was the big idiot with the cane," she half-joked. At that, House _did_ feel relief. Suddenly he wanted this meeting to be over with.

"So what's my punishment? Just tell me so we can both go home." Now there was the House that Cuddy knew and loved.

"Punishment? What are you, five years old and just stole a cookie from the jar?" Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Disciplinary measures. Consequences. Corrective action. Whatever." House actually _had_ been punished for stealing a cookie once, and he doubted anything Cuddy could throw out could be worse than what had happened then. He shuddered, trying not to remember.

"Since Katie was not actually a patient, in the hospital's eyes you didn't do too much wrong. You also had permission from her guardian to take her, which does remove a lot of the liability. However, your actions resulted in hospital resources needing to be re-allocated for the search effort. You also allowed unauthorized personnel access to the morgue. I'll be placing a letter in your file detailing your involvement in this situation. I'm also assigning you to work thirty hours in the peds ward over the next month. Hopefully you'll use a bit more common sense in dealing with these children. Lastly, you need to apologize to Mrs. Henry before they discharge Alex today."

House's eyes narrowed. "You're sentencing me to the peds ward?"

"Think of it as giving you an opportunity, House."

House sighed. "Anything else, or am I free to go?"

"That's it. Go see if you can still find Mrs. Henry, then go home. Tomorrow will be a fresh start."

House nodded and shakily got up. He hobbled to the door, and Cuddy noticed for the first time that he didn't have his cane.

"What happened to your cane?" she called after him. He just ignored her, walked out of her office, and slammed the door behind him.

Wilson was waiting for him, holding a hospital issue cane. House gratefully took it, while trying to figure out how to get rid of Wilson.

"I'll give you a ride home," Wilson offered. Why was Wilson always trying to drive House home? House opened his mouth to refuse, then stumbled. His leg was barely up to walking, much less driving. Actually, House would never admit it, but he wasn't completely certain that he could make it all the way down to the parking lot.

"Okay," he wearily acquiesced. "But I have to apologize to Mrs. Henry first."

Wilson stared at House in shock. He was going to apologize? That was so out of House's character that Wilson half expected it to be a joke. Of course, Cuddy must have demanded that he apologize, but Cuddy demanded a lot of things, most of which House never seemed to do.

"You're really going to apologize?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"It's the least I can do," House replied firmly. Wilson couldn't think of anything else to say, so the two took the elevator back to Alex's floor. They didn't even have to find the room – Alex was sitting in the hallway in a wheelchair, apparently waiting on the discharge paperwork. Mrs. Henry was talking to a nurse a few feet away. The other kids were still there, talking to Alex. House noted in the back of his mind that it was good to see Alex actually speaking to other human beings.

Mrs. Henry caught House's eye and quickly ended her conversation with the nurse. Wilson stepped back to allow the two some privacy. House took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Henry, I –"

"Dr. House, it's really okay. I think I have a clearer picture of what really happened. I know you didn't mean to scare Katie."

"I still need to apologize," House protested. Wilson watched the exchange with his mouth hanging open.

"I should not have allowed the kids to even be on that floor of the hospital, much less let them see...what they saw. I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology. Hey, why don't you join us for dinner sometime this week? I know the kids have grown somewhat attached to you."

House hesitated. "Um...you know that...uh, Erica and I are no longer seeing each other, right?"

Mrs. Henry nodded. "She told me. I'll make sure she's not there whenever you decide to come over, if it makes you more comfortable. I just want to give the children a chance to spend some time with you. I don't want you to be ripped out of their lives just because you're no longer in Erica's life."

House had barely been in the kids' lives either, before today. But he supposed that they really had bonded. It would be a shame not to see them again.

"I'd love to come over for dinner sometime," he politely replied.

They exchanged phone numbers, and Mrs. Henry began wheeling Alex outside. House walked beside Alex, acutely aware of Wilson behind him, hovering close by as if House might fall.

"Dr. House, are you going to visit us?" asked Benjie. House nodded.

"Yep, looks like I'll be coming over for dinner next week." The other kids looked excited at that, except for Portia. She was deliberately avoiding his stare.

"That okay with you, Portia?" House asked, trying to gauge what she was feeling. Finally, as if she couldn't stand it any longer, Portia stopped walking and looked up at House.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

House knelt down so that he was eye level with Portia. He ignored the searing pain in his leg that told him that this position was a dumb, dumb, dumb idea.

"Listen, Portia," he said. "I want to be really clear. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong. I did. All you did was ask for something – it was my job to tell you 'no,' and I didn't. This was not your fault."

Portia didn't respond, just stared into House's eyes as if trying to figure out whether he was lying or not.

"Okay? Do you believe me?"

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, until Portia finally nodded. House smiled.

"Good. Now what are you guys gonna make me for dinner?"

Portia almost smiled as she thought about it. "We could make macaroni and cheese."

"Mmmmm, I love macaroni and cheese. Does that sound good to you, Alex?"

Alex, who had been watching Portia and worrying about her state of mind for hours, immediately understood what House was doing. Although he wasn't really comfortable talking in front of all these people, and in the middle of a crowded hospital, he pushed himself to try.

"I love mac and cheese, too. And I can reach the burner. Maybe we could even put hot dogs in it, right, Portia?"

Portia's eyes twinkled. "Maybe, because it's a special occasion, we could have jelly sandwiches."

"No such thing," said House and Alex simultaneously. They met each others' eyes and shared a silent chuckle.

Portia pretended to act upset, but House could see the relief on her features that had not been there ten minutes ago. When they got to the front door of the hospital, the kids and Mrs. Henry went left, and House and Wilson went right.

"Bye, Dr. House!" shouted five kids. He waved, then slowly limped along with Wilson. Wilson wanted to help House; to let House lean on him, but he didn't dare. For whatever reason, House didn't want him touching him, and he had to respect that. They finally made it to the car, and drove home in silence.

When they arrived, Wilson opened the door for House, and House stumbled out of the car and away from Wilson's outstretched hands. Wilson sighed, but allowed House his space. They finally made it up to the apartment, where House collapsed onto the couch and began to rub his leg.

Wilson brought each of them a beer, and the two watched t.v. in awkward silence. Wilson was frustrated. They had watched t.v. together a thousand times before, but usually any silence was amicable; comfortable. Tonight it was as if there was a huge lake between the two of them, with alligators nipping at their heels if they tried to cross. Finally, Wilson couldn't take it any more.

"I have to know what's going on, House," he blurted out.

House raised an eyebrow, and pretended he didn't know what Wilson was talking about. "What's going on?" he asked innocently.

"Are you still mad at me for the Erica thing? Is that it?"

House glared at Wilson. "Oh, so I shouldn't be mad at you for breaking me up with my girlfriend?"

Wilson looked desperately lost. "I don't know, should you? Did you really want to be with her? Do you _not_ want to be with me? I need to know, House. I need to know if I've made a mistake."

House took a deep breath, then took a swig of beer. "I do want to be with you," he said quietly.

Wilson wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "You do?"

House nodded. "It wasn't a mistake. You did me a favor. Although I wish you had said something months ago...years ago. But it wasn't a mistake."

"Then...what was going on today outside of Cuddy's office? Why did you tell me to get away from you?"

House carefully put his beer down, trying to think of what to say and how he could say it without revealing too much. "I didn't tell you to get away. I told you to get your hand off me."

"_Why?_ It's not like I was groping you or anything. Nobody saw it anyway."

House sighed. "I already told you it wasn't because of people watching. Can we talk about something else?"

For a second, Wilson almost agreed that they should switch the conversation to something more mundane, less upsetting. But he was tired of pussyfooting around certain topics with House, and if they were going to start something, Wilson didn't want to start it on shaky ground.

"No. No, we can't talk about something else. I really need to know what's going on with you, House."

House said nothing. He knew that if he waited Wilson out, he would eventually change his mind.

"What was going on in your mind earlier today?" Wilson pushed.

"I just didn't want to be touched, that's all!" House yelled, hoping that would be the end of it.

"But _why_?"

"Would you just stop asking me why and leave me in peace?"

"House," Wilson began. He took a deep breath as he carefully weighed whether to play this card. "House, if you don't talk about this, and that shower thing that happened, and whatever else is going on inside your head and bothering you, then that's it. We don't have a relationship. How can we have a relationship when we can't be honest with each other? You have to tell me what's going on. It's a deal-breaker."

House stared into Wilson's eyes, looking for some sign that he would relent. When he realized that Wilson was completely serious, he actually thought about it for a few minutes. Wilson was asking him to talk about things he had never told anybody – not Stacy, certainly not Erica. He had started to scratch the surface with Dr. Nolan, but that was it – only the surface. There were some things even his mother didn't know. A voice rang through his head that filled him with fear. _Boy, don't you tell nobody, or I'll _really_ give you something to cry about. Nobody would believe you, anyway_.

House took a deep breath of his own, and did what he had to do. "I'm not going to talk about it, Wilson. I'm sorry. I'll start moving my things back to my old place tomorrow. Right now I just want to get some sleep."

Wilson watched House limp dejectedly to his bedroom and mentally cursed himself. He had pushed House too far...again. He never should have set an ultimatum. Obviously whatever it was must be deeper than their fragile relationship could handle...and now he had destroyed that relationship. Wilson finished House's beer, then went to bed himself.

In the next room, House lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to listen to the threatening voice running through his head.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** A word or two about the Navajo pronunciation:

Yá'át'ééh abíní - "Good morning." Pronounced "yot-eh a-bin-eh"

A'hee'hee' - "Thank you." Pronounced "Ah-hyeh-heh"

Aoo' - "Yes," but used in this case as "you're welcome." Pronounced "Oh."

* * *

Wilson woke up early the next morning and waited for House to come out of his bedroom. He had the feeling that House was avoiding him; he would often stay in his bedroom until he thought Wilson had left.

Wilson sighed and brewed a pot of coffee. He hoped the smell of the coffee would be enough to entice House into the kitchen. The longer he waited, the less hope he held out. Finally, he had to leave if he didn't want to be late for work. House never cared whether he was late or not; although he often kept long hours, so it did even out. Wilson finished his own coffee, and then made a decision. He poured another mug of coffee, and brought it to House's bedroom. Steeling himself, he knocked softly.

When there was no answer, he took a deep breath and opened the door. House was still in bed, burrowed into the covers.

"House?" Wilson called out softly.

"Mmmmm..." was the only answer House could come up with. He had barely gotten to sleep a few hours ago, and was in no condition to talk to Wilson.

Wilson observed House in bed, and decided to just plow right into his apology.

"House...I don't want you to move out. I'm sorry I gave you that impression last night. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just seem to get so impatient with your issues sometimes."

"Don' have any 'issues,'" House grumbled, his face buried in the pillow. Wilson smiled.

"Of course you don't. My mistake."

"Mmmmm."

"Are you going to get up and go to work?"

"Might as well sleep in," House mumbled. "Start ditching my peds ward duty early."

"So...are you going into work later?"

Would Wilson ever stop talking and just let him sleep? House sighed and finally threw back the covers. "I guess I'm up now. Are you happy?"

Wilson hesitantly walked over to House's bed. "What time do you think you'll be home tonight?"

At this, House cracked an eye open. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"N-no, I thought we could..." Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly. "I thought we could do something together. You know..."

House got the picture. "You thought we could have a date." Now both eyes were open, and House pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Blushing furiously, Wilson nodded. "Is that too weird? To soon?"

House thought for a moment. Only a few days ago, he had been in a relationship with Erica that appeared to be heading in a nice direction. Now here was the man that had destroyed that relationship, wanting House to get over it and be with him, when just last night he had all but thrown House out. Was he ready to forgive Wilson, much less try to be _with_ Wilson? "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm...not sure yet, but..."

House mentally gave in. He really _did_ want to be with Wilson; had for a long time. They were finally both in the right place at the same time. And Wilson had apparently decided to let House have his space when it came to things he didn't want to talk about or re-live. House got an idea.

"Tell you what. I'll pick you up here at 6:00."

Wilson was intrigued. "To go where?"

House's eyes twinkled. "It's a surprise. I'll plan everything. Just show up."

Wilson smiled. He wanted to reach out and touch House, but because of recent events was almost afraid of what would happen if he tried. Instead, he turned around and held up his right hand as if in a wave. "See you at 6:00, then," he called casually.

"And wear something sexy!" House yelled after him in a mocking tone. Even though Wilson was walking away from him, he knew that the younger man was turning an even brighter shade of red.

* * *

As soon as Wilson left, House got out of bed and began making arrangements. He eventually made it into work, and because the team did not have a case, found himself ordered to the Pediatric ward to start his time.

He checked in with the nurse on duty, then started looking through charts, in case any patient had any interesting symptoms or diseases. No such luck – many of the children were cancer patients, awaiting or recovering from chemotherapy. House found a girl of about twelve who was watching t.v. He pulled the visitor chair up to her bed, plopped down into it, and put his feet up on her bed. The girl looked at him. He looked back at her.

"What are you watching?"

Glaring at him, then letting her eyes wander to his feet invading her space, she answered shortly, "Made."

"What's it about?"

"Can you get your feet off my bed?"

"I'm comfortable here. What's it about?"

The girl hit the nurse call button. The nurse who had only twenty minutes ago checked House in, came running. She took in the situation, and, having heard rumors about Dr. House for years, found that she was not in the least surprised.

"Dr. House, we could use help with another patient. He's afraid of needles, and we need to give him his chemo."

"Would if I could, but I'm helping this patient here. We're working on some relaxation techniques."

The girl shot the nurse a look that clearly said, _Get this nut OUT OF HERE!_

"Dr. House, if you can't help us meet our needs, maybe we should talk to Dr. Cuddy to see what other options might be available for you."

Had that nurse just threatened him with tattling? House looked into her eyes. Yes, she definitely meant business. Sighing loudly, he lifted his feet off of the girl's bed and got up.

The nurse led him down the hall to a brightly decorated room, and she stopped in the doorway. "I'm nurse Begay, by the way. In case you don't want to look stupid in front of the patients."

Normally House wouldn't care to learn any nurse's name, but this nurse intrigued him. He took in her dark features and the turquoise earrings she was wearing. "Begay...are you Navajo?"

Surprised, Nurse Begay looked back at House. "Yeah, I grew up on the rez. Lukachukai, Arizona. You know about the Diné?"

"Yá'át'ééh abíní," House said, extending his hand. Nurse Begay lightly shook his hand back, surprised that Dr. House knew the Navajo for "good morning."

House saw her surprise and chuckled. "I like learning new languages. Navajo is the only language I've ever given up on – it's pretty hard. But I did learn some."

"You were on the rez?" she asked in surprise. She couldn't believe House was making polite small talk. This did not match what she had heard about the man from other doctors and nurses.

"No, but I'd like to go some day. How long has it been since you were there?"

"I go back every summer to see my family, but it's been twenty years since I lived there. I went to college and became a nurse...could have worked at IHS and stayed close by, but I wanted to see the country. I've lived in five different states since I left." She waved her arm at a small boy who was sitting in the chair, fidgeting. "This is Tommy. He's afraid of needles."

House pulled up a stool and sat down. "Hey, Tommy," he said softly. The boy looked at him, frightened.

"Please don't put any needles in me. I feel fine. Really. I think I can go home."

The boy was obviously not fine – he was stick thin, pale, and now that he was so close to getting a needle stuck in him, shaking. At least House assumed that's why he was shaking.

"Is it the idea of the needle, or is it because it hurts?" he asked carefully. Tommy looked at House as if he were an idiot.

"It _hurts_."

House nodded. "Let's play a game. Close your eyes, and I want you to guess what animal this is."

Tommy obeyed, although House could tell he was suspicious. House gently rubbed Tommy's arm and made meowing noises.

"A cat!" Tommy guessed.

"Right! Okay, keep your eyes closed. Try to guess this one."

House wet his finger from the plastic water pitcher on the nightstand, then applied it to Tommy's arm. "Woof, woof!"

Tommy giggled. "It's a dog. With a slimy nose. Ewwww."

"Ewwww," House agreed. "Let's get that doggie drool cleaned up." He opened an alcohol swab and rubbed it on Tommy's arm, raising his eyebrows at Nurse Begay. She took the hint and began to prep the needle.

"Okay, keep your eyes closed. What about this one?" House began to poke Tommy's other arm, making quaking noises.

"A duck!"

"That's right, a duck who can't control where he's putting his beak. Do you like cats and dogs?"

Tommy nodded.

"What about ducks?"

"I guess."

"Okay, guess this next one. But keep your eyes closed!" House nodded at Nurse Begay, who stuck the needle into Tommy's arm.

As Tommy gasped, House quickly went on. "He's prickly, very prickly. What animal is it?"

Distracted by House's voice, Tommy guessed, "A porcupine?"

"Good job!" House kept talking to keep Tommy distracted. "Okay, what about this one?"

House slithered his finger back and forth going up and down Tommy's other arm. "Sssssss..."

"A snake!"

"You got it! Do you like snakes?"

"Not really, but I guess maybe today I could."

"What would you name a snake if you had one?"

"Um...Snakey?"

House laughed, all the while keeping an eye on the IV fluid. "Snakey? You wouldn't name it Bob?"

Tommy giggled again.

"Or how about José? Or – I know! Sulemon The Snake."

Tommy kept laughing. "Do another one, Dr. House."

House kept up a string of animals and their noises, trying to engage Tommy in conversation. He managed to keep the kid distracted until the full treatment had been administered, then Nurse Begay stealthily removed the IV needle.

"Let's do one more, okay?"

Tommy nodded vigorously. House rubbed his scruff against Tommy's arm. "Guess what animal this is?"

Tommy opened his eyes. "It's _you_! No fair, you're not an animal."

"Sure I am. Human beings are animals too, you know."

"Really?"

House found he was quite enjoying playing around with this wide-eyed kid. "We sure are. And wanna know something else?"

"What?"

"You just got through your chemo dose."

Tommy looked down at his arm, shocked to see a Snoopy Band-aid. "Really?"

House nodded. "Yep. And you didn't cry. Did it hurt?"

Tommy thought it had hurt when the "porcupine" had stuck him, but it wasn't really that bad. "I guess it was okay."

"Think you might be able to do this again?"

Tommy wasn't sure, so he didn't say anything.

"Well, think about it, okay?" House's beeper went off. "Kid, I've got to go help some other people now. But you did good."

"Can I have a lollipop?"

House hesitated. Tommy might soon be vomiting anything that he had in his stomach. "How about this? You can have _two_ lollipops if you promise to save them for tomorrow. Okay?"

House looked at Nurse Begay, to make sure. After all, she would be the one dealing with a hyper kid, not him. She smiled and nodded, taking two lollipops out of her lab coat pocket.

"Like Dr. House said. Tomorrow you may open them. Today just save them next to your bed, okay?"

Tommy nodded. "My mom says I have to ask her before I eat any sweets anyway, and she won't be here until tonight."

House briefly wondered why Tommy's mother had not been there today for what had appeared to be her son's first chemotherapy treatment, but didn't think it was prudent to ask in front of Tommy.

"See you guys later," House said, grabbing his cane.

"Hey," Nurse Begay called out. "A'hee'hee'."

House smiled. "Aoo'." House would never admit it, but he was almost glad Cuddy had forced him down here. He had managed to work with a kid without causing permanent harm. Maybe the incident was Katie had only been a fluke – maybe he actually could be okay working with kids.

Behind him, Nurse Begay was thinking the same thing.

* * *

House's page had been about a case, but he was able to solve it by the time he was ready to leave. He took his change of clothes out of the bag he had packed that morning, and went to the locker room to put them on.

When House arrived at their condo, Wilson was waiting impatiently. He couldn't imagine what House had planned for them, and only hoped he wouldn't have to pretend to like something. He heard the door open, and quickly got to his feet.

House was standing there, wearing a black suit with a black silk shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie, so he had opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Whereas normally House would have sported a t-shirt underneath his button-down, today he was bare underneath. Wilson couldn't keep his eyes off of House's chest hair.

House grinned, watching Wilson. "Ready to go?" he asked innocently.


	21. Chapter 21

House took Wilson's open-mouthed gaping as an opportunity to drink the younger man in. Wilson had, indeed, taken House's advice to "wear something sexy" to heart. He was wearing a soft brown sweater that brought out the color in his eyes. House shivered.

"So what's the big surprise? Where are we going?"

"Downstairs," House answered slyly. Wilson rolled his eyes, but followed. He was surprised when House stopped at his motorcycle. There were already two helmets and a spare leather jacket on the ground next to it. Wilson briefly wondered where on earth House had been hiding this jacket for all these years, but other thoughts soon won out for dominance.

"We're going to take the bike?"

House suddenly looked nervous. Would Wilson have a problem riding the bike? In all his planning, he hadn't thought of that.

"Is that...okay?"

Wilson grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "Hurry up and get on!"

House smiled, and mounted the bike. Wilson mounted after him, and wrapped his arms around House's waist. House navigated the streets until they found themselves on Route 27. House took it northeast for a while. Wilson again wondered where they were going. When they stopped at a red light, he called up to House.

"Where are you taking me?"

House just grinned. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed. As House started off again, Wilson settled in close to House, enjoying the warmth emanating from House's torso. He squeezed his arms tighter.

Even though Wilson couldn't see him, House grinned.

* * *

House took Wilson to Eno Terra, a very nice restaurant with a wine list eight miles long. The two were immediately seated, and Wilson began to peruse the menu.

"I've never been here; what do you recommend?"

House thought for a moment. "Pretty much the entire menu. If you're not sure, go with the grass-fed steak."

Wilson thought that was a good idea, and that's what he ordered. The two decided to get an order of stuffed calamari to share as an appetizer. The waiter recommended a Cabernet to pair with Wilson's steak, and he eagerly agreed.

Finally, their order was in, the calamari was disappearing quickly, and the two found themselves alone in an awkward silence.

"This is really nice, House," Wilson said, trying not to feel uncomfortable.

House fidgeted. The fact that he was on a date with his best male friend was finally hitting him. What was he doing?

"I'm glad you like it," he replied shyly.

"So how was your first day of peds duty?" Wilson asked, desperately searching for something to talk about. House grasped at the subject like a drowning man grabbing at the life buoy.

"Actually not bad. Nurse Begay is kind of cool. She doesn't put up with my crap. Kind of reminds me of Erica, actually."

As soon as he said it, House realized his mistake. He watched Wilson tense up, mentally kicking himself. Why did he have to bring up Erica?

"Oh, how so?" Wilson asked politely, wiping his hand on his napkin.

"Uh..." House looked away. "She just...doesn't let me get away with anything. You know."

"So you like her, huh?"

This was one of those trick questions that had no good answers. House very carefully considered his words. "She was pleasant to work with and made my time in the pediatric ward bearable."

Wilson could not remember ever hearing House utter the word "pleasant." He tried to tell himself not to be jealous.

"Did you do any actual work while you were down there?"

House laughed. "Helped a kid get through his first chemo treatment. Does that count?"

Wilson was impressed. That was usually a job for a nurse, or a parent, or someone else with...well, compassion. "Yeah, that definitely counts. So you're going back tomorrow?"

House shrugged. "And the next day, and the next day, and the next day...got thirty hours to do."

"I'm glad it wasn't that bad."

"Me too," House agreed. Their entrees arrived, and the two enjoyed their meal in companionable silence.

After House had paid the check, he led Wilson back out to the motorcycle. "You'll never guess where we're going next," he teased.

Wilson was surprised. Going next? He had assumed dinner was the entire date. He delicately mounted the motorcycle after House and held on tight, wondering what devious plan House had cooked up.

He was still wondering when House pulled up at the Nassau Inn. Were they meeting someone here? Were they going to the Yankee Doodle Tap Room? They had just eaten. Wilson was completely baffled.

House hopped off the bike after Wilson, and left it standing outside the lobby while the two went inside. When House stepped up to the desk and told the woman, "Reservation for Gregory House," Wilson finally figured it out.

House had booked them a hotel room! Suddenly, Wilson's heartbeat was twice as fast as it should be. He wasn't sure he was ready to...spend the night with House. He had thought House would be the one to want to take things slow. After all, he could barely touch the man without a flinch. What was he going to do tonight?

House got their room keys and after talking to the woman for another minute, handed his bike keys over.

"I didn't think they had valet parking here," Wilson asked, curious.

"They don't. Special arrangements," was all House would tell him. The two found their room, and when House opened the door, Wilson was surprised to see one of his suitcases already in the room.

"You packed a bag for me?" Wilson asked, amazed.

"And one for me, too! I refuse to walk around naked all night long, no matter how much you try your wiles on me," House teased.

Wilson looked around some more. The room was actually a suite, complete with couch and nice furniture. There was a bottle of champagne already on ice, and a bouquet of roses on the nightstand. House had gone all out. While Wilson was looking around, House plugged his ipod into the docking station. The strains of Beethoven gently filled the room. Oh, lord. House was really into this.

Wilson sat down on the bed and put his hands in his lap.

House seemed to realize how uncomfortable Wilson was getting, and turned off the music. He sat down next to Wilson.

"Hey," he said uncertainly.

Wilson looked into House's eyes. He looked so vulnerable tonight. "Hey," he softly answered back.

"Too much?" House asked. He hoped he hadn't ruined his chances with Wilson. In his own mind, this had been a long time coming. Even though Wilson had been responsible for destroying his last relationship, he had wanted to show Wilson that he forgave him, and that he was one hundred percent committed. Somewhere along the way, something had apparently backfired.

Wilson shook his head. "This is all...so amazing. But...I just was hoping we could take it slow. I don't think I'm ready for..." Wilson cleared his throat as he gestured to the bed. "I don't think I'm ready to spend the night with you."

House wanted to be very clear. "Spend the night with me in the same room, or spend the night with me in the biblical sense?"

Wilson almost laughed. "The latter," he answered wryly. House relaxed a bit.

"I think we're on the same page, then. I'm not really ready for...the bible, either. I thought we'd start off with an easier book. Like 'Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.'" At that, House reached under the pillow and withdrew a box of chocolates. Wilson finally did laugh.

"This is so great. And thanks for...being okay with slow."

House smiled, and tentatively put his hand on Wilson's knee. Wilson was amazed. _House,_ the king of being anti-touchy-feely, was willingly making physical contact. Wilson grinned an evil smile and moved House's hand up the leg to his thigh.

Now it was House's turn to grin. "What say we get you out of these pesky clothes?"

Wilson laughed. He allowed House to remove his soft sweater, then unbutton his shirt, and House gently ran a hand down Wilson's bare chest. Looking at Wilson for a sign, he slowly and hesitantly moved his hand toward Wilson's fly. Wilson smiled and grabbed House's hand, moving it for him.

House quickly got Wilson's pants off, and politely ignored the beginnings of Wilson's arousal. They had already agreed not to do anything tonight. Or had they? How much exactly could they get away with without going all the way? House decided to find out. He put his hand back on Wilson's chest, then slowly dragged it downward. When he got to Wilson's happy trail, Wilson finally stopped him.

"Not tonight. But I'll take a rain check. Besides, now it's my turn! Get that shirt off."

Wilson gently began unbuttoning House's silk shirt. House shivered. When Wilson got to the last button and tried to push the shirt off of House's arms, the older man suddenly jumped to his feet.

"I think I'll change in the bathroom," he said softly. His breathing had quickened and he was doing his best not to hyperventilate. House fished around in his suitcase for his sleep pants and a t-shirt, then ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Wilson let his head fall backward as he let out a groan. _What was the matter with House_? It seemed like everything Wilson did made House jumpy, or nervous, or edgy. Was House about to have another panic attack – or whatever that had been that time in the shower?

Wilson patiently listened for any sounds coming from the bathroom. He wanted to rush in there and drag House out, but he had the feeling that such an action would only make everything worse. Wilson found his own sleepwear, got dressed, and resigned himself to sitting on the bed and watching t.v.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the door creaked open, and a bashful House popped his head out. Seeing that Wilson was in a nonthreatening position on the bed, House slowly came over and joined the younger man. Neither said anything, pretending to watch Ice Road Truckers.

Finally, House took a deep breath and grabbed the remote control, turning the t.v. off. Wilson turned to him, curious.

"I don't...I...I have a problem with...I..."

Wilson just waited patiently for House to spit out whatever it was that was on his mind. He finally did.

"Look, my childhood was kind of crappy at times. It's not your fault, but sometimes when you make sudden movements or say...certain things, it kind of brings back memories. Sometimes I get confused about what's in the past and what's happening right now. That's what happened in the shower that morning. I'm sorry. You deserve to be with someone who's not so...messed up."

House got out of the bed and went to the closet. He grabbed the spare blanket and took it with him to the couch. Wilson lay in bed silently, processing what House had just told him. What kinds of memories had House meant? Wilson finally realized that House wasn't coming back. He followed House to the couch and sat down right next to the man.

"Don't sleep on the couch, House. I want you in bed with me."

House looked up at Wilson with eyes that were shining. "But I may never be okay with...getting close to you. Letting you touch me. You should find someone else. Someone who can make you happy."

Wilson tried to be as reassuring as possible. "I don't want anyone else. You _already_ make me happy. Come to bed."

Wilson gently took House's hand, and the older man allowed Wilson to pull him to his feet. The two got back into bed, and Wilson fell asleep almost immediately.

House took longer, tossing and turning as he thought about how he was already destroying this relationship. He finally got to sleep after he wrapped himself up to his shoulders in the bedclothes. He curled in on himself and moved a few inches away from Wilson, leaving the warmth of the other man behind as he feel asleep, exhausted.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Chapter warning for a flashback**

**

* * *

**

The two were awakened by the phone. House had thoughtfully ordered a wake-up call the night before. Wilson glanced at the clock – 6:30. Way too early for House to get up. He must have been thinking of Wilson when he asked for the call.

Wilson smiled as he climbed out of bed. It wasn't a surprise that House could be thoughtful, but the idea that he _was_ in fact thinking of Wilson warmed the younger man's heart. The whole evening had been incredibly well-planned and wonderful.

Wilson brought his thoughts into the shower, and was soon thinking about other aspects of House that he thought were wonderful. He satisfied himself, then wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back out into the suite to locate his clothes. House was still asleep on the bed, his mussed hair giving him a perfectly adorable look. Wilson smiled as he looked in his suitcase. Sure enough, House had packed work clothes. Was there nothing the man hadn't thought of?

Before Wilson could get dressed, there was a knock on the door.

"Room service!" a muffle voice called.

Wilson rushed to the door, amazed. Apparently House had actually thought of everything. He let the man in to set up the breakfast, keeping his towel wrapped tightly around his waist. When the man had left, Wilson finally got dressed and sat down to eat breakfast. He considered waking House up, but thought better of it. If House wasn't getting up for the smell of bacon and eggs, then he really should be allowed to sleep a bit longer. Wilson enjoyed his own breakfast, and left plenty for House, covering the tray back up.

He got up to leave, and at the last minute walked over to the bed and planted a gentle kiss on House's forehead.

House felt the kiss and smiled. It had been a long time since anybody had shown him such tender affection, and it felt good. If only he could remember that he actually liked it later on, when things got more serious. He was definitely going to try.

* * *

At work, he dropped by Wilson's office.

"I'm going to dinner at the Henrys' house tonight. Just want to make sure you knew that, so you didn't worry."

Wilson smiled. "Thank you, House. I really appreciate it. And last night was...amazing."

House shuffled his feet around. "Sorry it didn't go...further. I'm going to work on things."

Dropping his smile, Wilson brought his chocolate brown eyes up to House's. "House...whatever speed you're comfortable with is the right speed. We have all the time in the world."

Relief poured through House, but he only nodded, grabbed his cane, and hobbled away.

* * *

"And then I showed this girl Lacey at the library, and she thought it was totally cool." Alex grinned, enjoying his new-found role as a ladies' man.

House listened with one ear, stunned. Here was Alex, who a month ago wouldn't say two words to anybody, now talking on and on as if he were battery-powered.

"You know, some girls might be a little disgusted if all you do is show them your scar," House suggested politely.

Alex thought about that for a moment. "Yeah, but those aren't the kind of girls I want to meet."

House could have sworn Mrs. Henry was hiding a laugh by choking on her bread. He would be laughing too, if he weren't so entrenched in the conversation.

"So what were you doing at the library, anyway?"

"He goes there all the time," Portia cut in. "Alex loves to read."

"And write," Alex himself added.

Ah hah, so _that_ was what went into that notebook the boy always carried around.

"Can I take your plate for you, Dr. House?" Jeanine asked. House looked around and saw that everyone was finished eating. It seemed like dinner had flown by. He smiled.

"That would be wonderful, thank you ma'am," he answered, pouring on the charm. Jeanine giggled as she grabbed House's plate.

"Everyone's finished eating. Can we watch t.v. now?" Portia asked her foster parents.

Mr. Henry chuckled. Mrs. Henry answered slowly, as if she had gone through this discussion a thousand times before. "It's company night, Portia. What can we offer our guest on company night?"

Sighing dramatically, Portia turned back to House. "Dr. House, would you like to play a board game with us?" she spit out, sounding for all the world like a little computer.

House thought about it. It was still early, and he did actually enjoy spending time with this family. "Sure." He thought about his response some more. "I mean, that would be delightful."

The adults formed three teams – one for each adult – and the kids split off onto the various teams. Katie was the last to choose, and she looked apprehensive. House wondered if she had been warned not to get too close to him anymore.

"Want to be on my team, Katie?" House asked softly. She smiled and nodded.

House brought Katie to sit on his lap, and they all began to play. It soon became evident that House was the star player, although Portia was giving him a lot of competition. House wondered where a ten year old learned so much trivia.

House looked around at everybody happily playing. Even though they weren't technically a family, here they _were_ a family. And they were letting House into their family, as well. This bunch of unrelated people had come together to make a loving family; something that House never got the chance to experience. The idea made his chest hurt. Then he began to wonder exactly why it was that each child was in foster care. It was very possible that he shared some experiences with the kids. He wasn't at all sure how to feel about that.

House backed off from answering every single question, trying to just enjoy his time with this family. After a while, Mrs. Henry looked at her watch.

"Hey, it's getting late. Getting to be bedtime. Dr. House needs to be getting home."

"Awwww," Portia argued. "Can't we stay up a while longer?"

"No, sweetie. Dr. House has to get some sleep. He has work tomorrow."

House reluctantly got up and made his goodbyes. He had to promise to show up for dinner again soon, but he was finally able to make it out and get home.

The condo was dark, which was disappointing. House really felt like he wanted to talk to Wilson. Just in case Wilson was still awake, he popped his head into Wilson's room. The younger man was definitely asleep. House gave up, and got ready for bed himself. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but wish that Wilson was in bed next to him.

* * *

Wilson cooked dinner the next night. House came home to the smell of some sort of chicken dish, although he couldn't quite identify the source.

"What smells?" he asked Wilson. Wilson glared at House.

"Tangy lemon mushroom chicken," he answered. House scrunched up his nose.

"Sounds too healthy for my taste. Why didn't you make fried chicken? Or curry? Or better yet, order pizza?"

"This is what I made, House. It's healthy and full of fresh ingredients."

"I'm not eating it."

"This is what's for dinner, House. Eat it or eat nothing."

House smirked. He would show Wilson. He browsed around the kitchen for something else that he could eat for dinner. Unfortunately, everything was still in cans or boxes, and needed preparation. He slammed the cabinet shut in frustration.

Wilson calmly handed House a plate of his concoction, over a bed of rice.

"This smells gross," House whined. "I don't want to eat it." He set the plate down on the table, and went to grab a beer from the fridge. He didn't really have a good reason for needling Wilson, except that it was their habit, and he truly didn't want to eat the weird-smelling chicken. He had meant to come home and have a serious talk with Wilson, but sometimes his own behavior got in the way of his plans. He couldn't always help himself.

"Just eat it, House," Wilson called out as he made up his own plate.

"I wouldn't even feed this to a dog. And if I did, they wouldn't eat it, either."

Wilson slammed his plate down on the table. "You don't want me to cook for you? Fine. I won't anymore. You can go back to eating peanut butter and Ramen noodles. But quit acting like an ungrateful brat."

House looked up at Wilson, trying to gauge the level of aggravation. Had he gone too far? He pushed the chicken around on the plate with his fork. Maybe eating this stuff was worth it just to keep the peace with Wilson. Suddenly he didn't have much of an appetite anyway. Another voice was ringing through his head, speaking the same words that Wilson had, but with much more force.

_Ungrateful brat. Think you're better than everybody else? Your mother's cooking's not good enough for you? Then you can skip dinner. And we wouldn't want you to have to smell any of her horrible cooking – you'd better get on outside. I'll let you know when you can come back in._

"House?" Wilson's voice cut through the other one. House looked up. His hand was shaking, and he had dropped his fork.

"What's going on, House?" Whereas a month ago, Wilson might not have noticed there was anything wrong, this time he was acutely aware. He could see House's hand shaking – the tremor was extending to his entire body. Something was very wrong.

House stared back at Wilson silently, without really seeing the other man, and Wilson thought he actually saw fear in the older man's eyes. After a moment, House seemed to regain his awareness.

"Wilson?" House asked in a shaky voice.

"I'm right here, House. What's wrong?"

Realization flooded onto House's features. Now that he was aware of what had happened, he was embarrassed. His old instincts to get rid of Wilson quickly kicked in.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Wilson tried to hide his exasperation. "You're not fine, and we both know it. _Please_, House, talk to me."

House thought about it. The invitation was out there – maybe he should. He had been wanting to talk about some of these things with Wilson for a while now. It would be difficult, but he had to start somewhere. He finally relented. Taking in a deep breath, he addressed Wilson.

"Remember what we talked about a few nights ago? At the hotel?"

Wilson knew exactly what House was talking about, but he played dumb for a moment. "What do you mean?"

House cleared his throat. "I told you that sometimes...some things bring back certain memories. And what you said just now...about being ungrateful...that triggered one. I'm sorry. You're right. He was right. I was being ungrateful."

Wilson had the feeling he might not want to agree so quickly. "What are you sorry for?" he asked, making sure.

"For arguing with you. Being ungrateful. Letting my memory run away with me and making you worry for nothing."

Wilson nodded calmly. Had House just apologized for having a panic attack? "Who was right, House?"

House took another deep breath. "My dad."

"What happened? Tell me about it."

House shrugged. "I didn't want to eat my mom's cooking one night. He said I was being ungrateful."

Wilson could tell that wasn't the whole story. "And then what?"

House fidgeted. "Then he kicked me out of the house. I slept outside that night."

Wilson wasn't sure what to say. "Did that...happen often?"

House laughed bitterly. "After that I never complained about dinner again. So no, that particular set of circumstances never happened again."

Wilson read between the lines. "But others did?"

House closed his eyes. He had shared enough. He no longer wanted to talk about this with Wilson. "Wilson...I'm sorry. I thought I was ready to talk about all of this...I'm not. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't control my emotions just now. Didn't mean to worry you."

Wilson reached out his hand and rested it on House's arm. "Don't apologize, House. It's okay." Instead of relaxing, House tensed up.

"Please...don't..."

Wilson got the message and removed his hand. But he wasn't completely done. "What did you mean when you said he was right?"

House shrugged. "He was. I shouldn't have complained. He was right to do what he did."

Wilson was appalled. "How can you say that?"

House looked down. "My mom worked hard to cook for us. I should have appreciated it. I didn't."

"Just because you didn't want to eat that particular dinner, doesn't mean you deserved to spend the night outside, House." Wilson tried replacing his hand on House's arm.

House shrugged him off and got up. He obviously disagreed with Wilson, and the younger man wondered if there was anything he could say to change his mind. Wilson was only now beginning to get a clear picture of House's issues...and he did not like what he saw.

House walked out to the living room, sending a strong message that he wanted to be alone. Wilson decided to try one more time. He followed House and sat down next to him.

In a huff, House got back up. "Wilson...please. I'm done talking. Please just let me be alone for a while."

"I'm worried about you being alone right now, House. I'd rather stay with you."

"Well that's a decision you don't get to make!" House exclaimed. Considering the situation, he grabbed his cane, stalked to the front door, and slammed out.

Wilson looked at the door, shocked. Should he follow House, or let the man be alone? Where would House go? Should he be driving in the state he was in? Wilson wrestled with his conscience. He didn't want to be responsible for House getting into an accident. On the other hand, he didn't want to smother House. He couldn't see that ending well at all.

Wilson thought through both courses of action, hoping House would come back on his own soon. When he didn't, Wilson finally made a decision.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Well, it's been forever, but I finally have an update. SORRY! The first quarter of school is almost over - we're giving midterms today! I'm really hoping to update more frequently, and bring this story to its conclusion.**

* * *

Wilson did not have to go far to find House. When he got to the parking garage, intending to take his own car out into the night to start looking for the older man, he realized that both House's bike and ratty old car were still parked in the garage.

Could it be that House was still close-by? Had he decided to take a walk around the block? Wilson hoped the man wouldn't hurt himself – he really shouldn't be walking too far. He approached House's car to see whether it would give him any clues as to House's whereabouts. Wilson placed his hand on top of the front hood to check whether the engine was warm – and then jumped when he noticed somebody sleeping in the driver's seat of the car. It was House.

Wilson knocked on the window. House woke with a start, then tried to glare Wilson down.

"House, open the door," Wilson called. House shook his head.

"Don't want to talk right now. Go back upstairs."

House's voice was muffled through the car window, but Wilson understood just fine.

"Open the door, House."

House shifted around in the car and faced away from Wilson, wrapping his arms around himself. The message was clear.

"You can't stay in here all night. Come back inside."

House gave no indication that he had heard Wilson. Wilson sighed. This evening was not going as he had planned at all. He thought he was being nice, cooking dinner for House. He had thought House was just kidding around with him about not wanting to eat it...somehow things had gone too far, and Wilson's head was hurting just from trying to catch up. He knew he couldn't just leave things the way they were.

Wilson watched House trying to ignore him, and wished he had the key to House's car. He turned away from watching House for a moment, trying to think of what to do. His eyes fell on House's bike, and he got an idea. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. Flipping it open, he tapped the car window just long enough to get House's attention again. Then, holding up the knife, he took the few short steps over to the bike.

Wilson held the knife threateningly over the paint. Sure, House didn't mind that there was a scrape on the bike when he bought it, but Wilson was hoping he wouldn't want to add another one to it.

His bluff worked. House threw open the door to the car and rushed over to Wilson.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Grinning, Wilson put the knife away. "I wanted to talk. You ran out on me."

"Because I _didn't want to talk_, you moron."

"I need there to be at least a certain level of communication between us for this to work."

House looked away, wrestling with his thoughts. Finally, he looked into Wilson's eyes pleadingly. "I'm doing the best I can."

That was it. Wilson felt the fight go out of him. House had opened up more in the past few weeks than he ever had in the whole time Wilson had known him. He was pushing House, and it was too much, too fast.

"Okay. You're right."

House was silent for a moment, trying to gauge whether Wilson was serious. "Really?"

Wilson nodded. "I know you've really been trying, and I didn't mean to push you so far that I pushed you away. If you need space, take it. It's okay."

House nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Wilson turned to go back up to their condo, then stopped. "I was wondering something, though..."

"Yeah?"

"I thought you'd run out to a bar or something, but instead I found you still here in your car. What were you planning to do? Stay in your car all night?"

House shrugged.

"House! You can't sleep in your car like some hobo!"

"Why not? I've done it before," House said so softly that Wilson had to strain to make the words.

_What?_ House had done this before? "You have? When?"

House began to look very uncomfortable. "Never mind. Just forget it."

"No, I want to know."

House looked down at the concrete. "The night after you found me in the shower...Erica and I had sort of a bad date that night. I couldn't stay with her, and I didn't want to talk to you..."

Wilson thought back. He had just assumed that House had been with Erica all night. The thought of House sleeping in his car just to avoid Wilson made him feel awful. Sleeping in a car stopped being exciting around the age of twelve. It was so uncomfortable and cramped – and for a disabled man, it must have been excruciating.

"Don't sleep in your car, House," Wilson said softly. "Please come back inside. When you're ready."

House nodded, and Wilson walked away. He didn't want to leave House down in the garage, but he knew House needed to be alone, at least for a little while.

* * *

House unlocked the door to the condo softly, hoping that he wouldn't disturb Wilson if he was already asleep. When House realized that the lights were still on, he looked around and found Wilson sitting on the couch, reading. No longer worried about noise, he closed the front door firmly.

Wilson looked up from his book and smiled. "Join me?"

House hesitated, then made his way to the couch and sat down next to Wilson. Wilson brought his book back up in front of his face to hide his grin.

House shifted around, trying to get comfortable. He grudgingly admitted to himself that hanging out in his car had not been the best of plans – now he was sore, and his leg hurt. Wilson watched House out of the corner of his eye, still pretending to read. Finally, when House's hands began to knead hopelessly at his thigh, Wilson put his book aside.

He gently reached for House's thigh and pushed the older man's hands away. House's eyes widened in alarm as he realized what Wilson was trying to do.

"No...don't..." he protested feebly.

"Shhh," Wilson said, trying to sound soothing. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

House watched Wilson's hands like a hawk, his eyes following every movement. After a few minutes, though, his thigh really did begin to feel better – more relaxed. House leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. When Wilson stopped massaging and snuggled in next to House, snaking his arm around the older man, House didn't say a word.

* * *

House walked into the peds ward whistling the next morning.

"Yá'át'ééh abíní, Nurse Begay," he said cheerfully.

"Morning, Dr. House," she replied. "You remember Tommy, who doesn't like needles?"

House nodded. "Time for another round?"

"No, he has actually had one and done just fine on his own. But he's not here for that today. He's here with his mom – she's concerned that he's losing weight."

House looked at Nurse Begay and furrowed his brow. "He's getting chemotherapy; of course he's losing weight."

Nurse Begay shrugged. "She needs to hear that from a doctor."

"Ah." House grabbed the file and went in to talk to Tommy's mother.

"Hello, I'm Dr. House. What brings you two here on this fine morning?"

"Dr. House!" yelled Tommy. "Guess what? I got through chemo all on my own last time!"

House smiled and ruffled Tommy's hair. "I'm not surprised. You're a cool kid."

Tommy giggled. Tommy's mother watched this exchange, then extended her hand.

"I don't believe we've met...I'm Nancy Allen, Tommy's mother."

House shook her hand, trying not to roll his eyes. "What seems to be the problem today?"

Nancy hesitated. Usually she spoke with Dr. Wilson about everything; she would really rather see him than this scruffy other doctor. "It's Tommy's appetite...he's barely eating anything. He's losing weight."

House flipped through the chart, and saw that Tommy had indeed lost five pounds since starting treatment. He put on his best "nice doctor voice."

"Well, Mrs. Allen, appetite loss is a common occurrence with chemotherapy. We do expect to see some weight loss."

"But he's hardly eating anything at all!" she protested.

"Okay. With chemo patients who have little appetite, we recommend they try to eat some higher-calorie foods. Do you like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes lit up and he nodded. Nancy looked astonished. "I didn't think of that..."

Again, House tried not to roll his eyes. "I've got another idea. Wait here."

He took his cane and hobbled out the door. "Be right back," he called to Nurse Begay.

By now she knew enough about House not to try to stop him. House came back twenty minutes later holding a four-beverage carrier. All four slots contained milkshakes. He entered the exam room again. Tommy eyed the milkshakes as soon as House walked in.

"Do you like chocolate milkshakes, Tommy?"

"Uh huh."

House handed one to Tommy, and one to Nancy. He took one for himself and started slurping. Nancy set hers down. "You're a doctor, and you're telling me he should eat more _milkshakes_?"

House ignored her tone. "Milkshakes are soft and easier to ingest. Also, he is more likely to eat foods that he is interested in. They still have all the benefits of milk."

"But it's junk food!"

House shrugged. "Then find another high-calorie food that he enjoys."

As they talked, Tommy was making progress on his milkshake. Nancy watched him drink, dubious. He really was eating more of the milkshake than he had eaten in the entire previous day. Maybe there was something to what Dr. House was saying.

"Okay, I'll think about it. Thank you for your time, Dr. House."

House nodded slightly and took the last milkshake with him. He handed it to Nurse Begay. "Here, brought you a milkshake."

She took it suspiciously, but drank it all the same. "You've got another patient, Dr. House," she said cheerfully, handing him a chart. House chuckled inwardly. This woman was not going to let him get away with _anything_.

* * *

House got home to find Wilson sitting on the couch, vegging in front of the t.v.

"What's for dinner?" he asked Wilson.

Wilson looked at House as if to say, _why would you even _ask_ that_? "I didn't make dinner...it didn't work out so great the last time, as I recall."

House looked away. If Wilson didn't know better, he would say that House even looked ashamed.

"I'll order Chinese," House said quietly.

He went into the kitchen to get a menu, and sat down at the table with it. He dialed, placed the order, then tried to peek at Wilson in the living room. Was Wilson mad at him, or just crabby about the dinner incident? He might as well find out, so he would know what he was dealing with. He got up and walked over to Wilson.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked bluntly. His question sounded harsh, but House gave himself away with the way he looked at Wilson. He was vulnerable, and both he and Wilson knew it. Wilson put him out of his misery.

"I'm not mad, House."

House stayed at the edge of the room, not sure whether to believe Wilson.

"Come sit down," Wilson invited. House obeyed, but picked at imaginary lint on his leg. Wilson could tell the older man was still uncomfortable.

"Let's forget about last night and start fresh, okay?" Wilson asked, trying to put House at ease.

House nodded.

"How was your day?" Wilson asked. House rolled his eyes at the mundane question.

"Fine, _mom_."

Wilson laughed. "Did you knock off any of your peds hours?"

House nodded. "Yeah. Prescribed milkshakes for a kid."

"Milkshakes? Appetite loss?"

House loved that Wilson immediately understood the situation. "Yep. Hey, don't complain – _you_ prescribe pot!"

Wilson chuckled. "True."

The two sat in silence for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Their food arrived, and to Wilson's surprise, House got up to pay for it. When House sat back down, Wilson looked at him in wonder.

"You used your own money?" he asked incredulously.

House blushed. "Just didn't want to take advantage of you _all the time_. Figured you could use a day off from...me."

Wilson opened one of the cartons of food, saying nothing. House kicked himself for creating another awkward silence. Aggravated, he shoved lo mein noodles into his mouth.

Wilson felt the tension as well, but he did not want to just leave it hanging. Putting his dinner down, he decided to pick up where they had left off last night. He pretended to accidentally drop his fork on the other side of House's feet. As he leaned down to pick it up, his left hand caressed House's leg, brushing awfully close to a region that might cast suspicion on the accidental nature of the situation.

House flinched, then realized what was going on. He tried to remain calm as Wilson straightened back up, using House's good leg as a hold.

"Got it," Wilson said saucily. He held up the fork as if to show it off.

House put his own dinner down, and threw his fork onto the couch on the opposite side of Wilson. "Oops, guess we're both clumsy tonight."

Wilson just grinned. He let House climb into his lap to reach for the fork. As House withdrew again, Wilson followed. He knelt on the couch with about three inches of space between House and himself, and ran his hand gently up House's flank. House shivered.

Then, without warning, Wilson found House's mouth with his own and gently kissed him. After a moment's hesitation, House kissed back.

As he explored the older man's mouth, relief poured through Wilson. They had finally come to a stage that normal couples in a relationship experienced. He only hoped that it would last.s


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Once again I find myself apologizing for extreme tardiness with updates. What can I say? I guess this is just the slowest story known to man. **

* * *

Wilson awoke in the middle of the night. He was hearing voices – was there someone else in the apartment? As he waited and listened for a few minutes, he realized he wasn't hearing voices – he was hearing _one_ voice: House's. The sound was coming through the wall and heating vent. Wilson had never realized how thin the walls were – no wonder House been able to hear Wilson when he had conversed with Amber.

As the House continued talking, Wilson thought he could detect a trace of panic. Then he realized – House wasn't speaking to anybody else – he was having a nightmare. Should he get out of bed and go wake the man up? Wilson weighed the options, then decided to do nothing. If House was having a nightmare, that was private. He knew the older man would only be embarrassed if Wilson had to come rouse him awake. He would just let House ride it out.

Wilson rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but found he was not able to ignore the noises emanating from the other side of the wall. He lay awake, listening, until the noises died down. Finally, Wilson finally fell back to sleep.

* * *

House stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, and Wilson immediately shoved a mug of coffee in front of him. House grunted in thanks, then inhaled the rich aroma.

"Sleep okay?" Wilson asked casually.

House raised an eyebrow. Normally Wilson restricted his morning conversation to news of the day, or silence. Why was he suddenly asking about House's sleep? Unless...

"You heard."

Wilson looked away, then nodded. House sighed.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

Wilson shook his head. "You didn't," he lied.

House set his coffee down. "Sometimes...I have bad dreams."

Wilson shrugged it off. "It's okay. We all do."

"Yeah." House made no move to pick his coffee back up.

"Do you want me to wake you up the next time?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head. "No reason for you to get all the way out of bed."

Wilson thought for a second. "You know...I wouldn't necessarily have to get out of bed. I mean, I could already be there...if we slept in the same bed."

House's eyes shot up to Wilson. "What?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at House's reticence. "It's not unheard of, you know. Two people in a relationship often sleep together."

House reached for the coffee again, just to have an excuse not to answer right away. Wilson watched House drink, and pushed on.

"I'm not saying we would be _doing_ anything, necessarily. Just sleeping in the same bed."

Finally, House lowered the mug. "Just sleeping?"

Wilson nodded. "Just sleeping."

"Okay," House decided. Before he could change his mind, he slammed the mug down and rushed off to work.

"And stop leaving your dishes on the kitchen table every day!" Wilson called after House fruitlessly. But he smiled as he placed the mug into the sink.

* * *

House felt like he was running through his day. Crisis after crisis took him to all floors of the hospital, and by three o'clock, he felt almost ready to collapse. Realizing he hadn't eaten lunch yet, he dropped in on Wilson in his office to see if he could get some company. It was the first time all day he had seen the younger man.

Wilson looked up from his paperwork and smiled. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while."

"Been busy. Time for lunch?"

Wilson looked at House in concern. "I had lunch three hours ago...at lunch _time_."

House shrugged. "Time for a mid-afternoon snack?"

Wilson laughed. "Sure, let me just finish this first. House...please remember to eat. I worry."

"I'm eating now, aren't I? Geez, _mom_."

Wilson rolled his eyes, then wrote a few more things down. Closing the chart, he pushed his chair back. "Let's go."

The two men made it as far as the door to Wilson's office before House's cellphone rang. Throwing his head back in exasperation, House fished it out of his pocket. Expecting a nurse or somebody from his team to be calling with an update, he was surprised to see that the caller ID said "Erica." He should have known – it was his generic ringtone, not the team's.

He flipped it open and tried not to give away the caller's identity to Wilson. "Hello?"

"Greg?" Erica sounded worried.

"Yeah, what's up?" House tried not to sound nasty, but he wasn't too keen on being interrupted from lunch with Wilson by the woman who had dumped him, even if he understood her reasons.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I've got a medical problem...actually it's Benjie."

House softened. He had formed a special bond with Benjie, and would hate to see anything happen to the kid. "What's wrong with him?"

"I took a half-day today so I could pick the kids up from school, and I noticed that he's got a rash. And some...I don't know, blisters? They're almost red."

House thought a moment. "Does he have a fever or sore throat?"

"Yes, both! Why, what is it? Is he going to be okay?"

House laughed. "Sounds like the chicken pox. I wonder if he was vaccinated?"

Erica breathed a sigh of relief. "No, probably not – his 'family of origin' had an aversion to doctors."

House could tell there was more to that story than Erica could say at the moment. He assumed there were a few little ears listening. "Listen, bring him in to the hospital, I'll do a work-up on him, just to make sure, then he'll be fine to go home."

"I will. I'll call the Henrys and let them know what's going on. Thank you so much, Greg."

"Sure. See you in a bit." House hung up, then looked at Wilson, who had been waiting patiently for House to wrap it up.

"Who was that?" Wilson asked suspiciously.

House figured that Wilson would find out eventually, so he may as well come clean. "It was Erica."

Wilson stiffened, although he had already suspected. "You two still call each other?"

"No, that's the first I've heard from her since..."

"Right." Wilson clearly did not believe House.

"Really. She only called because Benjie's got the chicken pox. She's bringing him in."

Wilson sighed. "House...I thought you had made your choice. I thought you wanted to be with _me_."

House looked at Wilson in alarm. "I do. I _do_, Wilson. I'm just providing a medical consult –"

"You could have easily referred her to another doctor – say, a _pediatrician_ – if that's all it was."

"I already know Benjie. Why freak the kid out by sending him to someone new? You don't really believe there's anything still going on between us, do you?"

Wilson shook his head. "What we talked about this morning? Forget it."

"_Wilson_..."

"Get out of my office, House. I have work to do."

House opened his mouth to argue, but looked into Wilson's eyes and decided against it. What Wilson needed was to cool down and relax a bit – whatever House might say to him at this moment would not help the situation. House slowly walked out of Wilson's office and went downstairs, to wait for Erica in the ER.

He should have known better. As soon as he walked in, he was accosted by Cuddy.

"House. House!" Cuddy called, walking quickly toward him. At least she wasn't waving a file around, House thought with relief.

"Yes, mistress?"

"Have you done any of your peds hours today?"

House sighed. "No, but I've already knocked off ten of them. Thought I'd take the day off."

Cuddy shook her head. "No way. You need to keep going down there until you're all done.  
No wasting time fishing around for a case in the ER. If anything truly interesting comes in, I'll be sure to let you know."

For the second time that afternoon, House decided not to argue. "Your wish is my command," he said, turning back toward the elevator. Cuddy watched him walk off, speechless. She couldn't remember the last time he had acquiesced without a fight.

* * *

The second House walked into the peds ward, he was given three cases. It was Nurse Begay's day off, and the nurse on shift had not developed quite as high an opinion of House.

"Dr. House, you have to actually _sign_ this chart before you put it in to be filed."

House sighed. "Sorry. What's next?"

"Cast removal. Seven year old girl." The nurse handed House a chart. House took it and nodded.

"Listen, I'm expecting a five year old male patient with possible Chicken Pox to get here any second – family friend; I promised I'd see him. Can you let me know when they get here?"

The nurse glared at House. "They'll have to fill out the paperwork just like everybody else. They don't get special treatment just because they know you. You know the rules, Dr. House."

"That's fine, just let me know when they're here."

House was just giving his patient and her mother after care instructions when the nurse poked her head into the room. "The patient you're waiting for is here," she said.

House nodded. "Good, show him in. We're done here."

The patient's mother thanked House, and led her daughter out. A miserable looking Benjie walked in, holding Erica's hand.

"Hi Benjie," House said softly.

"Hi, Mister Greg," Benjie mumbled. He sounded awful.

"So I hear you've got a rash. Does it itch?"

Benjie nodded.

"Can I see it?"

Benjie hesitated. House sensed the hesitation, and he wasn't sure how healthy it was.

"Where's the rash, big guy?"

"On my tummy," he answered shyly.

"Can you show me your tummy?" House asked again. Benjie shook his head, looking a bit scared. House suddenly remembered having a similar feeling himself many years ago, when he had sported bruises of a questionable nature. He had known the consequences of anybody finding out about them would have been ten times worse than the original injuries, and he had found that the easiest way to avoid questions about their origin was to make sure any bruised area of his body was covered by clothing of some sort. His stomach clenched at the thought that Benjie might have been trained to do the same.

Treading carefully, House asked, "You know I'm a doctor, right, Benjie?"

Benjie slowly nodded. House took that as a good sign. "You know you can trust doctors, right? We aren't allowed to do anything bad."

Benjie looked away. _Hmm_, House thought. "Did anyone ever tell you what to if you see a doctor?"

Benjie nodded. "Don't tell," he whispered.

_Crap_. It was what House suspected anyway. He couldn't change the past, but he had to figure out a way past Benjie's programming. As much as he wanted to ask, "_Don't tell what?"_ he knew this was not the right time. Besides, obviously somebody along the line had discovered _something_ if the kid was already in foster care.

"Benjie, whoever told you not to tell – are they around?"

Benjie shook his head no.

"Are they still in your life?"

Benjie shook his head again.

"So whatever they said might happen, how can they make it true? They're not here anymore."

Benjie appeared to consider this. "I don't know..." he hedged.

House tried another avenue. "It's okay. I don't need you to tell me anything. I just need to take a quick look at your tummy. Can I do that?"

Benjie though about it. "You won't tell?"

House shook his head, although he had no idea who it was they were keeping secrets from. "Nope, not a soul."

Benjie finally lifted up his shirt, and House quickly inspected the rash. "Yep, chicken pox," he told Erica. He let the shirt fall back down. He could see why someone may not want anyone to see Benjie's torso. He had noticed several circular scars – most likely cigarette burns, he thought grimly. He didn't mention them to Benjie or Erica. Benjie already knew he had them, and if Erica didn't already, then there was no reason to upset her. What was past was past.

House printed out instructions for taking care of a child with chicken pox, and sent Erica and Benjie off.

* * *

When House got home, Wilson all but ignored him. The two ate separate dinners in silence, then watched t.v. at the same time, but not what House considered together. After a few hours, Wilson went to his bedroom and shut the door firmly. House sighed, then got undressed and into his own bed.

As he stared up at the ceiling waiting for sleep to come, he thought that if Wilson was going to get jealous about every nurse he talked to, every hour he spent alone, and every phone call from Erica, maybe they shouldn't do this thing after all.


	25. Chapter 25

Wilson was up and gone early the next morning. House slowly eased awake, happily snuggled in his sheets and comforter. He was enjoying the feeling of softness and staring at the ceiling, delaying the onset of the day for as long as possible.

Finally, he swung his legs slowly out of bed and hobbled to the shower. At that point, he remembered everything that had taken place yesterday, and sighed. He and Wilson needed to work this thing out, and _soon_. House couldn't take much more of these hot-and-cold oscillations, filled with jealousy at every turn. He couldn't truly understand the jealousy anyway – it wasn't as if he was such a great catch. He had no idea what Wilson saw in him.

He went to work and didn't even go near his office. He knew they had no case, and he wanted to knock out as many peds hours as possible while he had the chance. It was a slow, quiet day in the ward, but he stayed until Nurse Begay finally kicked him out. Signing out, he figured it was almost lunch time, so he went straight to the cafeteria.

As he ate his dry Reuben, he finally admitted to himself that he was avoiding his office because he was avoiding Wilson. But he still hadn't received any pages from his team, so he figured there was really no need to check in on the fourth floor. He pushed his sandwich aside and stared at the other people eating. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten lunch in this cafeteria with somebody other than Wilson. He had frequently eaten alone, simply due to schedules and tough cases. But if they both had the time, he and Wilson always ate together.

Ever since this whole thing with Wilson had started, House had not had time to stop and think about how things in his life might change. If he and Wilson never worked out romantically, would they be able to go back to being friends? House didn't think he could stand to lose the one friendship in his life that was actually meaningful. Would Wilson be okay just being friends, now that Pandora's box had been opened? Or what if this thing actually _did_ work out? Would Wilson be able to drop the jealousy to at least a tolerable level? Or maybe the younger man was actually being quite reasonable – maybe House shouldn't be talking to other people in what could be perceived as a flirtatious manner. House needed to talk these details out with somebody. The problem was, the one person he actually trusted to talk things over with was Wilson – and for obvious reasons, he couldn't talk to him.

* * *

When House showed up at her office with a salad and bottle of water from the cafeteria, Cuddy was shocked.

"How did you know I hadn't had lunch yet?" she asked.

House shrugged. "I figured you could always stick it in the fridge if you didn't want it right now."

Cuddy laughed. "To what do I owe this gift, House?"

He awkwardly sat down. "I, uh...need some advice."

Cuddy opened her salad and speared a piece of lettuce. "What's going on?"

House took a deep breath. "I don't know if you've heard, but Wilson and I are...seeing each other now."

Cuddy nearly choked. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

House looked down, unsure how to answer. Cuddy took in his defeated posture and gasped. "You're actually _serious_?"

House nodded slightly.

"When did this happen?"

"It's...been going on for a while. When I was dating Erica, he was...well, he was doing things that I later realized were because he was jealous. He was actually the reason we broke up. And we've been seeing each other ever since. But..."

Cuddy finally saw the big picture. "And you usually get your advice from Wilson, but now you need advice _about_ Wilson."

House was relieved that she had caught on so quickly. "Yeah."

"Okay. So what's the problem?"

House put his head down onto the handle of his cane. "It's just that...Wilson gets really jealous. When I was with Erica, he was always trying to split us apart. But now that we're broken up, if I even _talk_ to her, he gets all hot and bothered. Or if I go out somewhere and he doesn't know where I am...he gets mad. I just don't know...what I should do. Or is that normal?"

Cuddy's eyes widened. "_Normal_? What on earth would make you think that?"

House shrugged. "I don't know. My dad was sort of the same way. He wanted to know where my mom was all the time. One time she wanted to join a ladies' bridge club, but he wouldn't let her, because he thought she might be using it as an excuse to have an affair. But she went along with all of it – never said anything, so..."

Cuddy wasn't sure whether she should say what she was thinking. Treading carefully, she asked, "Did your mom just go along with it, or did she actually _agree_ with it?"

House thought about it. "I don't know. I...I thought she agreed with him on everything. I mean, she seemed to agree with him about all the stuff he did to me..."

Cuddy put down her fork. "What stuff do you mean, House?"

Realizing his slip, House quickly tried to gloss over the subject. "Just...the way he chose to discipline me. She went along with it. Maybe she didn't agree; I don't know?"

"What do you think would have happened if she had disagreed or not gone along?"

House shuddered. "I don't know."

"But would your father have been okay with it?"

"No," he said shortly. There was clearly something he was holding back, but Cuddy didn't push.

"Okay. So do you think that was a healthy way for them to live? Do you think they had a good relationship?"

"They...had a long relationship."

"But was it healthy?"

House shook his head.

"Then why would you want to enter into the same kind of relationship with Wilson?"

"Because...because I love him," House whispered.

Cuddy was taken aback. This thing that she hadn't even been aware of until today must be deeper than she had guessed. But definitely not healthy. "If you love him, you need to let him know how you feel, and what your boundaries are. If he loves _you_, he'll respect that. He'll respect you. And you can build the kind of relationship that you deserve."

Boundaries. That's exactly what Dr. Nolan had told him. And the one time he had tried to assert those boundaries to Wilson, it had worked! Maybe there was something to that. "Thanks," he told Cuddy softly. "This has helped."

Cuddy could help repeating herself. "You really do deserve to be happy, House. Truly."

House nodded, brushing her off. "I'll talk to him."

As House left, Cuddy sighed. When would that man learn to look out for himself?

* * *

House waited until they were both at home after work. He didn't make any preparations; no dinner, flowers, special arrangements. He just ambushed Wilson as he walked through the door.

"Wilson, Can we please talk?"

Something about House's tone made Wilson stop. He reluctantly sat on the couch with House. "Say what you're gonna say," he challenged. "I've got things to do."

For the second time that day, House took a deep breath. "You...you've been wanting to know what that thing in the shower was all about."

Wilson's eyes flicked up. Now he was interested.

House tried to continue. "When I was growing up, my dad had...his own ideas about...how things should be. He didn't allow me to get away with doing anything wrong. He would..." House's jaw clenched. "He would discipline me. I'm sure I deserved it," he quickly added, "but sometimes, it all comes back. I'll have nightmares...or...like that time in the shower..."

"So it _was_ a flashback!" Wilson exclaimed. House nodded.

"Yeah. And...my mom never did anything about it. I had a talk with somebody today. About us. I realized that some of the ways my dad treated my mom are the same things that you do to me. What I realized today is that I think she was scared. Of him. Too scared to do anything but agree, and go along. And...I don't want to feel scared of you. That's not the relationship I want," House said, mimicking Cuddy's words.

Wilson was very quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice shook a little. "That's not the relationship I want, either. What kinds of things have I done that are...like him?"

House cleared his throat. "The way you...your need to...to control my every move. Who I'm with, when I go out...you just get so jealous, Wilson, and so did he. I have to be allowed to be my own person."

Wilson nodded. "House...before, when you say you deserved it...what kinds of things are we talking about?"

Now House was quiet. Shaking his head, he said, "It's nothing. I know I'm just overreacting."

"I don't care. I need to know." Wilson looked into House's eyes with such compassion that House couldn't keep it inside anymore. He sighed.

"One time...I had to take a bath in ice." House stopped talking in order to gauge Wilson's reaction. He knew that the ice bath was just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, but his willingness to reveal anything further would depend on Wilson's reaction.

"As a _punishment_? Or were you sick?" Wilson asked, incredulous.

House sighed again. "I had 'run my smart mouth' in front of his buddies at the 4th of July barbeque. He was mad that I had embarrassed him, so he took all of the leftover ice and brought it inside the house..."

Wilson gaped at House. "And you think that you _deserved_ this?"

House shrugged. "I should have stayed quiet."

Wilson shook his head. "What else?"

"Just...your ordinary run-of-the-mill punishments. Let's say I was well-acquainted with his belt. And some...other stuff, too."

"Like what?"

House closed his eyes. "I...can we talk about this some other time? I really wanted to talk about _us_ tonight."

Wilson began to process everything. If this was overwhelming for him, it must be nearly impossible for House to talk about.. "Of course. House..."

"Yeah?"

"Do I really remind you of your father?"

House looked down. "Sometimes. Yes," he admitted.

Wilson couldn't stand it. "Then...that needs to change. Maybe I need help."

House felt relief flow through him. Tension he wasn't eve aware he was carrying melted away. "Maybe...maybe you could come with me to see Dr. Nolan?" he suggested cautiously.

Wilson nodded. "Okay. Let's do that."

House almost smiled. "Thanks. It really means a lot."

Just two years ago, House would have scoffed at the idea of therapy. Now he was glad Wilson was going to come with him? The man really was changing. Wilson hoped he could change for the better, too.

"House...is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked gently.

"Yes," House replied, looking into Wilson's eyes with such intensity that Wilson had to blink. Then the older man walked into his room and shut the door.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Yeah, again it's been forever since I updated. I promise this fic has not been forgotten, nor will it be! I'm just a procrastinator of the highest degree.**

**

* * *

**

"Dr. Wilson, what brings you here today?" Nolan asked enthusiastically. House shifted around in his chair and stared at his cane.

Wilson glanced at House. This was going to be harder than they thought. He answered the therapist carefully.

"Greg thought…that I might benefit from coming with him to one of his sessions."

Dr. Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

Wilson sighed. "My behavior in our relationship has been less than stellar," he admitted. "I guess I've acted pretty jealous. I think I need help."

"Help to do what, Dr. Wilson?"

Wilson drew in a deep breath. "Help to create a healthy relationship with House."

Wilson snuck a glance at House. The older man was still looking down, but the faintest trace of a smile could now be seen on his features.

Dr. Nolan looked at both Wilson and House. "What about your relationship do you believe isn't healthy?"

House finally spoke up. "He's been acting like a jealous five year old who can't have the toy he wants."

Wilson glared at House. Dr. Nolan noticed, but decided to hold back any comments for the time being.

"How do you think Dr. Wilson is acting jealous, Dr. House? In what ways?" Nolan leaned forward as if to indicate that he was listening.

House did not need much time to gather his thoughts. "He gets the wrong idea about things and jumps to conclusions. I met Erica for a medical consult, but Wilson gave me the cold shoulder. He thought there was something going on. If he doesn't know where I am, he gets all panicky. He wants me to call him and let him know if I'm not going to be home, and if I forget…." House trailed off, running out of steam.

"What happens if you forget?" Nolan prodded.

"…he gets mad," House finished weakly.

Nolan nodded. "Okay. What I want you to do now is tell Dr. Wilson exactly what you just told me – but address it to him, not me. I'll just be an invisible observer. Also, tell him how his actions make you feel. You know, 'When you act this way, I feel….'"

House looked at Wilson. "When you assume something's going on between Erica and I when there's nothing there, I feel like you don't trust me."

"Good," Nolan encouraged. "Dr. Wilson, I want you to reply to Dr. House and tell him how _his_ statements and actions make _you_ feel."

Wilson nodded to Nolan before telling House, "When you have secret conversations with Erica, I feel left out. And you're right – I don't trust you."

"They're not _secret_, Wilson!" House cried, exasperated. "For God's sake, you were _right there_. I had the whole conversation in front of you."

Wilson stiffened. "It's not that conversation I'm worried about. It's all the other ones."

"_What_ other ones? What are you _talking about_?"

"If she can just call you up at any time like that, I know you must be talking to her on a regular basis. Admit it, House. You still have feelings for her."

Instead of responding, House looked at Nolan. "This is why Wilson came with me. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? _You_ talk to him."

House sat back and crossed his arms, waiting expectantly. Dr. Nolan took up the gauntlet.

"Dr. Wilson, I think we've come down to the crux of the issue. Dr. House says he's not communicating with his ex-girlfriend, and you're sure that he is. What is it that is stopping you from trusting him?"

Wilson thought about it for a second. "I don't…know."

"Has Dr. House done anything in the past that tested your trust in him?"

Wilson laughed harshly. "All the time. He forged my name to get a prescription for Vicodin. He stole pills from one of my patients. One of my _dead_ patients. Don't even get me started on all of the pranks he's pulled. I think a better question is, has House ever done anything to _earn_ my trust?"

Nolan nodded again. "These are all very critical issues. Let me ask you a corollary to my original question: has Dr. House done any of these things in the past year, since being released from Mayfield?"

Wilson thought longer this time. "No…I guess he hasn't."

"Okay, so that might be a starting point for you. Let me ask you something else: you have known Dr. House a long time, and you've seen him in relationships before. Were you ever aware of him cheating during any of those relationships?"

"He's actually only had one serious relationship," replied Wilson without thinking. "With Stacy."

"And did he ever cheat on Stacy?"

"No, definitely not."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

Wilson nodded. "I'm sure. I just…know. He would have told me. I would have found out."

"But surely he would have spoken with hundreds of other women over the span of that relationship. How do you know he didn't have a relationship with one of them?"

Wilson shook his head. "That's not like House. He's very loyal. He's very faithful."

Nolan said nothing, letting the silence speak from him. Understanding began to show in Wilson's eyes.

"I think I might have some trust issues," he whispered. He couldn't meet House's eyes.

House finally broke in. "We'll work through them, Wilson. We'll figure it out." Wilson couldn't believe how gentle the older man's tone was.

Dr. Nolan spoke up. "Dr. Wilson, let's revisit the original issue. Do you really think that Dr. House is having some sordid affair with his ex?"

Wilson shook his head. "No. No, of course he's not."

"So you're saying that the reason you don't trust Dr. House actually has nothing to do with any actions on his part, but is coming from somewhere else? And therefore, you were wrong to confront him with that accusation?"

Wilson nodded.

"There's something that people in healthy relationships do when they realize they have made a mistake in their actions. They apologize."

Wilson looked at House without hesitation. "House, I'm sorry I blew one phone call all out of proportion. And I'm sorry I froze you out. You did not deserve that."

House shrugged and looked away. "Whatever. It's fine."

Nolan and Wilson looked at each other, both noticing House's difficulty in accepting an apology. Wilson sat back in his chair, not sure what to think. Nolan decided to give him a break.

"Okay, Dr. Wilson's been in the hot seat long enough. Let's talk about you, Dr. House. Do you think you might have any trust issues as well?"

House thumped his cane on the floor and rolled his eyes. "Isn't our hour up? Maybe we should talk about this some other time."

Wilson's eyes flicked over to House. The older man was tense; his shoulders hunched and his hand gripping the cane so hard that the knuckles were white.

"It sounds like you already know the answer to my question, Dr. House," Nolan said gently.

House sighed and closed his eyes. "I have a hard time letting Wilson get close to me. Physically."

_And emotionally_, Wilson thought, but wisely kept it to himself.

"And is that because of something that Wilson has done?" Nolan asked.

"No," House said softly.

"So just like Wilson's difficulty in trusting you actually is not based on anything _you_ did, your difficulty in trusting Wilson is not based on anything _he_ did."

House nodded. He didn't know why, but just having that idea clearly articulated to Wilson gave him some sense of relief. It's what he had been trying to tell Wilson all along.

His relief was short-lived. Wilson spoke up. "I want to know what it _is_ based on, House. I want to know how I can be close to you without setting you off. What can I do?"

House shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered.

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

The two drove home in absolute silence. When they got home, the both collapsed on the couch, exhausted. Now Wilson understood why people thought therapy was tiring. Even though they had been sitting the whole time, it seemed as if they had exerted a day's worth of energy. And their session had raised as many questions and issues as it had resolved.

House clicked mindlessly on the remote control, changing the channel every thirty seconds or so. Wilson watched him just as mindlessly. Finally, the younger man began to talk.

"Well, I guess I'll be going to more of your sessions from now on. Or maybe I need my own with Nolan. Do you think I need extra time with him?"

House turned off the t.v. "You don't get extra credit for going more hours, Wilson."

Wilson sighed. "That's not what I meant. I just meant…I don't want to take up all of your time with Nolan when I clearly have lots of issues to work through, myself."

House snorted. "I have way more issues than you do."

"Is it a contest?"

House smiled. "It could be. Maybe we could even make some wagers…."

Wilson rolled his eyes and smiled, too. "I guess it's just going to take time."

"Yeah. Time." House clicked the power button and turned the t.v. back on. The two sat in awkward silence for several minutes, both pretending to watch Pawn Stars. Finally House threw down the remote.

"Screw this," he muttered. He reached for his own t-shirt and pulled it off. Before Wilson even realized what House was doing, the older man had his shoes and socks off and was fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. His hands were shaking. Wilson remembered how House couldn't even let him take a shirt off without running off. The younger man's eyes grew wide.

House stopped at his boxer-briefs, shivering. His naked shoulders felt cool, unprotected. It was not a feeling he enjoyed; his instinct was to cover up with clothes or huddle under a warm comforter. Even when he wasn't cold, he wanted to be covered with something. He had shed his physical layers of protection, and was lost without them. He pushed on anyway.

The t.v. still blaring in front of them. House gently grabbed Wilson's hand and guided it toward his own chest. Wilson looked into House's eyes and apparently found the confirmation he needed. He gently caressed House's chest, letting his hand drift over the fine hair. House shivered and closed his eyes. Tonight he was pushing himself farther with Wilson than he ever thought possible, and he wondered how far he could let things go before he totally shut down.

Wilson was wondering the same thing.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Well, an update once every month and a half or so seems to be the pace I'm going...but I am still going! Thanks for all the reviews and favorites in the past two months, especially with no update until now!**

**

* * *

**

House tried to enjoy the sensations from Wilson's gentle touch. People assumed that he shied away from touch because he had no feelings at all; but quite the opposite was true. One of his well-kept secrets was that he deeply felt touch. He felt each touch so intensely that he rarely wanted to let someone in; let someone touch him if the other person didn't feel it deeply too. It had taken him years to be able to let somebody hug him – even people he knew very well – because he just wasn't used to the feeling. It wasn't something he grew up with. At some point, well after he had moved away from home and gone to college, his mother had started to give him awkward, half-hugs when she would see him. He accepted them only because it was easier than arguing about it.

Wilson caressed House's cheek, trying to go slowly. He felt House tense up, and removed his hand. House relaxed slightly. Wilson smiled at House and crept his hand back up to the older man's cheek. House flinched, but then immediately tried to relax. He began to enjoy the sensation of Wilson's hand on his face. Each stroke warmed him a bit more, and he thought he could get used to the rhythm. Then Wilson slid his hand down to House's bare shoulder.

House shivered, but tried to hide it from Wilson. He allowed the younger man to explore his shoulders, neck and chest, staying stiff but not pulling away. When Wilson began to go further down, House closed his eyes. As Wilson gently rested both hands around House's waist, House began to hold an internal conversation.

_Get away!_ His mind screamed. _Pull away now so he'll stop touching you_.

But then another side of House took control; one that hadn't spoken up in a long time. One that had been born out of necessity, but should never have had to have been part of his psyche at all. _It's what Wilson wants; have to let him do this so he won't leave. Just tough it out a little longer. Just let him think you're enjoying it._

House kept his eyes shut and tried not to think about what Wilson was doing. Where would the hands go next? If he kept his mind occupied, maybe the whole thing would be over sooner. He didn't realize how tense he was, or that he was shaking.

Suddenly the hands were gone, and House's eyes fluttered open. Not only were the hands gone, but Wilson was gone with them. House had driven the younger man away. _You idiot, why didn't you just let him do what he wanted? Now you made him mad. Now he might leave and never come back._

House wasn't sure whether to go after Wilson, or to let the younger man have some time to cool off. Would Wilson leave the apartment? He hadn't heard the front door slam yet, but maybe the younger man was packing his things first? Before he could figure out what to do, Wilson came back. He was carrying the comforter from House's bed.

House watched, wide-eyed, as Wilson gently approached and wrapped the comforter around House. House realized that Wilson wasn't leaving him at all; in fact, quite the opposite. Neither man said a word as House sat on the couch, trying to stop shivering, pulling the comforter tightly around himself. Wilson sat down on the other end of the couch, keeping a healthy distance between them, but sending a clear message: _I'm not leaving. I'll be here waiting when you're ready._

After a long while, House turned to Wilson. "Sorry," he whispered intensely.

"Shhh," Wilson admonished. "Don't be sorry. You're trying so hard. We need to take this more slowly. We'll get there."

House looked into Wilson's eyes for any sign that he was lying. Seeing none, he held up his arm, still wrapped in the comforter. "Thank you," he said, indicating the comforter.

"Why did you push, House? You're obviously not ready. Why?"

"I didn't want you to leave," House replied, so, so quietly.

A thousand thoughts ran through Wilson's head. _Why would he think I would leave? Can House really have such low self-esteem? He's so cocky most of the time. Is this my fault? Did I do something to make him think that way? Did I push him into this too fast?_

He said none of them out loud. Truthfully, he wasn't sure _what_ to say.

House finally looked up at Wilson, trying to ascertain the reason behind the silence. What he saw in Wilson's eyes must have comforted him. He moved the comforter off of himself and scooted closer to Wilson. Then he wrapped Wilson into the comforter with him. Wilson looked at House in surprise, and then smiled. The two sat on the couch together, bundled up, until House nodded off.

Wilson took advantage of the opportunity to watch House in his most natural state. The man was beautiful, especially because he looked so much more relaxed than Wilson had seen him in a long time. Wilson ran his fingers through the graying brown hair, and House leaned into the hand in his sleep. Wilson stayed for a while, caressing the older man's hair and watching his rhythmic breathing, then gently got up and laid House down on the couch. Making sure the comforter was securely on top of the sleeping man, Wilson crept off into his own room and instantly fell asleep.

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

When Wilson woke up, the first thing he noticed was the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen. Apparently House had awakened first. Wilson smiled and dragged himself out of bed toward the heavenly smell.

House had just finished frying the bacon, and loaded it onto a plate for Wilson that already had eggs and toast.

"Wow," Wilson muttered.

House shrugged. "The eggs were getting near their expiration date. Figured we might as well use them up."

Wilson smirked. Of course House would never admit that he had done something nice for Wilson. Instead of saying, _Thank you for your understanding and compassion and company last night_, he found a frying pan and expressed his gratitude with food. Wilson settled down to eat the hearty breakfast, and House joined him with a plate of his own. After a while, Wilson noticed that House was just pushing the food around the plate; not much of it was actually making it into his mouth.

"Penny for your thoughts," Wilson offered. House snorted.

"Don't these idioms keep up with inflation?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "If I thought you would share all of your thoughts with me, I would pay tens of thousands of dollars."

House looked up in surprise. Wilson had been dead serious.

"You always did want to get into my head, didn't you?" he mumbled. Then he sighed and set his fork down. "Wilson…."

Wilson set his fork down, too, sensing something important was about to happen.

House fidgeted, trying to get the words past the barrier of his mouth. "I'm not used to all that touching. I've never been used to touching. My family just didn't do that sort of thing when I was growing up."

Wilson nodded. "And when you were touched, it was all bad?"

"Yeah," House said, grateful that he didn't have to explain further.

"Research shows that children who were deprived of touch don't thrive as well as others," Wilson pointed out. House nodded.

"I guess they have more problems later, too. House…."

House could tell Wilson wanted to ask something, but was hesitant. "Just ask."

Wilson took a breath. "When you were with Stacy, how did you…work around all this?"

"We avoided the mushy stuff as much as possible for a while. Then at some point we finally came to an understanding. It got to the point where I didn't mind it so much. It felt good. I mean, I was with her for years. I think…I think I had finally started to trust her…by the end."

Wilson could see the pain in his eyes. To work so hard and so long to trust somebody, only to have that trust torn away with one decision – would the man even be able to trust someone else again?

"Did she know? About – the reasons, I mean."

"She knew about a lot of the things he did to me. More than you know. I had to tell her so that she wouldn't keep pushing me to spend holidays with them. She had gotten really mad that I never took her to visit them – she thought I was hiding her from them because I was ashamed of her, not the other way around. But I don't think she ever put two and two together. I think she just thought I was crotchety and a loner and didn't like people in my space."

"Please tell me you're working on this with Dr. Nolan," Wilson begged.

House nodded. "Of course. I _want_ this, Wilson. I want us. I want to lie in bed with you and…." House trailed off and began to blush. Wilson smiled.

"And what, House?" he teased.

"We'd better get going or we'll both be late for work," House blurted out, getting out of his chair so fast that he jostled his coffee cup. Both men looked at the spilled coffee; one trying not to laugh, and the other trying to keep from being completely mortified.

"How about we carpool and I'll buy you a big cup of coffee on the way?" Wilson offered.

House finally broke his gaze away from the spilled coffee and nodded. What was he getting himself into? Was being with Wilson worth opening up about all of the things he would rather bury? Did he really want to drag his past and his feelings out into the open? He had been perfectly fine alone for all those years. He could probably live the rest of his life without any more relationships; just the occasional hooker.

House broke away from his thoughts when he noticed that the table was now clear. Wilson had cleaned everything off and put the dishes into the dishwasher. He limped off to his own bedroom to find some clothes. As he searched his drawers for a clean t-shirt, he heard Wilson humming some awful song – probably a show tune. At that point he knew that he had been wrong. He could not spend his life alone anymore. He did want to be with Wilson; _need_ to be with him. And he was going to have to work through this stuff before Wilson figured out that House was too much drama and effort to be with.


	28. Chapter 28

House signed the chart he was holding with a flourish.

"That's it!" he told Nurse Begay. "My last peds ward hour."

She patted House on the back and pretended not to notice when he twisted awkwardly away. "Congratulations, Dr. House."

If she had to be completely honest, she would actually miss the man a little. Sure, he was completely insane and never completed his paperwork, or followed any rules. But it turned out he was really good with the kids. For some reason they just seemed to instinctively trust him.

She took the chart from him and smiled. "What will you do with all your free time now?"

House grinned. "It's back to watching t.v. and playing video games for me. But hey – give me a call if anything…you know, if you need…well, you know…."

"Next time we're short a pediatrician, you'll be first on my sub list. Thanks, Dr. House."

House half-nodded without meeting her eyes, as if he was ashamed to be caught doing something nice. Then he grabbed his cane and headed back to his own office to collect his coat and bag. He was looking forward to getting home.

Over the last few weeks, he and Wilson had not tried to do anything else – except for one thing. Every evening, they would sit on the couch together in front of the t.v. They alternated who took what position, but one of them would lay on top of the other.

House didn't mind at all when Wilson laid down on him and kind of snuggled into his arms. And even though he was unsure at first, he was getting used to being held by Wilson as well.

When House got home, Wilson was indeed on the couch waiting for him. House settled in and smiled as Wilson wrapped his arm around him. Then he sniffed.

"I don't smell anything cooking. What's for dinner?"

"That depends. What are you making?" Wilson asked with a smile.

Ah. So Wilson was getting tired of making dinner every night. "Why don't we go out somewhere?" House suggested.

"You're buying," was Wilson's only response.

They ended up at a Mediterranean restaurant. House delicately flaked a piece of feta off of his chunk as they avoided conversation. Yes, they had become physically closer over the past few weeks, but their conversations had been limited to who controlled the remote, or whether the dishwasher was full enough to run. That was the way it had always been – they could talk about monster trucks or nurses' bra sizes, but nothing real. House wasn't sure if it was even possible to sustain real conversation.

Wilson was thinking the same thing. He knew that if they couldn't really address whatever issues they had – whether individual or stemming from their relationship – then they wouldn't be able to build anything strong enough to last. The problem was, he didn't know what to talk about, or how to bring anything up.

They both remained silent and finished their meals quietly, chalking one more night up to the relationship that wasn't quite there yet, and may never be.

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

Wilson fixed a mug of Cafix and brought it with him to the couch, hoping to pick up where their snuggling had left off before they had gone to dinner. House wrinkled his nose.

"What is it with you and that stuff?"

Wilson shrugged. "I used to love Postum, but they stopped making it. So now I settle for this."

House rolled his eyes. "I think my _grandfather_ used to drink Postum."

"I don't want to stay up all night. So what's wrong with that?"

"You're turning into an old man, Wilson." House honestly didn't know why he was trying to stir up trouble. Truthfully, Wilson's nightly cup of non-caffeinated beverage was comforting to House. Maybe it reminded him of the times he had spent overnight with his grandparents. Any time away from home had been welcome when he was younger, and staying with his grandparents had the added benefit that they spoiled him – took him on outings, worked crossword puzzles with him, and most importantly, let him play music without calling him a sissy.

No, he really had no problem with Wilson's 'old man drink.' He just wanted to break the routine; to talk about something, _anything_. Their life together had quickly become boring and fallen into a rut, well before they had ever gotten to any good parts.

Wilson sipped his Cafix delicately. He was enjoying it, and if it pissed House off a little, more was the better.

House rolled his eyes. He had not been able to get a rise out of Wilson. He decided it was time to break out the big guns.

"We need to talk," he told Wilson.

Wilson put his mug down and turned to face House, relieved. Finally, they might get some things out in the open.

"You're right. We've needed to talk for weeks now. Our lives have been reduced to meaningless drivel."

"Yeah," House agreed, hesitantly. He had counted on starting an even bigger argument – why was Wilson agreeing with him? He suddenly lost his nerve to talk about anything important. Wilson sensed this, and kept going.

"Tell me what you're worried about, House," he gently demanded.

House hesitated for a long moment. How had Wilson been able to skip through all of his deflection and reach the correct conclusion that House was worried? House would never understand how Wilson's insight managed to be right every time.

After a drawn-out moment of silence, House decided to just spit it out. If they couldn't be honest, then their relationship wouldn't last very long anyway.

"How long is it going to be before you get tired of me?" House asked quietly.

Wilson blinked as he realized that House was actually honestly expressing his concerns.

"Get tired of you?" Wilson repeated, stalling. That wasn't what he had expected at all. Where was this coming from? Why would House even think that?

House sighed. "It's already started. You have nothing to say to me anymore, so we just sit and stare at each other all night. And soon you're going to realize that all I am is a crippled, recovering addict. I'll do things you won't want me to do. I'll say things that will make you mad. And you're not even getting anything out of this relationship as it is, because who knows how long it will be before I can –" House broke off, too embarrassed to finish his thought.

"You think I'm not getting anything out of our relationship?" Wilson asked, appalled. House shrugged.

"House…" Wilson began, trying to organize his thoughts. "We've been friends for almost twenty years. And at no time in those twenty years have we ever had sex! But we're still friends."

"You think we should go back to just friends?" House asked, pained. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You and your selective hearing. What I mean is, of _course_ I'm getting something out of this relationship, something way more important than sex."

"But I'm stopping you from getting your rocks off with someone else by pretending to be in a relationship with you."

Wilson started to rub his temples. "How can I get this through your thick skull? You are an _idiot_, House. This relationship is not 'pretend.' Do you really think that the only things you have to offer are in bed?"

House shrugged again. "That's usually the only thing that doesn't piss someone off, at least in the end."

"Stop jumping to 'the end!' Enjoy the middle! Hell, enjoy the beginning, because that's where we are. I'm not tired of you. I'm not mad at you. But I _will_ be, if you don't stop insulting my best friend."

House shook his head. "You're making a mistake, Wilson. I won't make you happy."

Wilson laughed. "You've already made me happy. Even when I want to strangle you, I still feel the most alive that I've ever felt."

"Okay," House whispered. He gave up the fight, looking away from Wilson. If Wilson wasn't going to heed his warnings, they would just have to go forward with the relationship until Wilson _did_ realize what a crappy partner House would make. Then Wilson would break up with him – but at least he might get a few months of happiness before that happened.

Wilson watched House, trying to think of the right words to say. None came to him. If House didn't believe Wilson when he told the older man that he was worth it, that he was worth _something_, then he would just have to keep repeating himself until House got it.

House abruptly got up. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled.

"I'm coming with you," Wilson demanded. Up to this point, they had not tried sleeping in the same bed. Wilson had wanted to ever since he had suggested it weeks ago, and every night he regretted that he had chosen that particular day to allow his jealousy to cause a rift with House. But it was time to try again.

Watching carefully for any sign of disagreement, Wilson followed House into his bedroom. House didn't say anything or try to stop Wilson. He simply stripped to his boxer-briefs and a t-shirt, then found a pair of sleep pants and put them on. He refused to meet Wilson's eyes as he climbed into bed.

Wilson stripped down to just his underwear and climbed under the covers with House. House didn't comment, but as soon as Wilson settled in, House rolled onto his side, facing away from Wilson. Wilson scooted closer to House and delicately placed a hand on House's shoulder. House tensed, but didn't move away or make any kind of noise.

After a long while, Wilson dropped off to sleep. House debated whether to move away from Wilson's touch now that he was asleep. The hand was warm and soft. With Wilson not paying him any attention, House thought that he actually might be enjoying Wilson's hand where it was. It meant that Wilson was close-by, but not in his face or pressuring him. He decided to stay put.

As soon as House made his decision, he was out like a light.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I have not abandoned this story, and I do have every intention of finishing it. The stress level at work has reached an all-time high, and my thoughts right now are fairly consumed with that. But I know that I'm fairly close to the end of this story, so I am definitely trying to get it done as quickly as I can (which is obviously pretty slow, LOL!)**

* * *

"We should get away together," Wilson said as he popped his head into House's office. House looked up from his computer, trying not to be irritated at the interruption.

"I just took you to a really expensive hotel! You want to go somewhere _else_?" House had been trying to figure out why their patient wasn't responding to steroids, and Wilson had completely broken his concentration.

"That was really wonderful, House," Wilson agreed. House began to soften. "But that was before I know everything I know now. We're at a different level now. We can actually sleep in the same bed! I think we'll both enjoy a vacation together twice as much. Plus, maybe a change of scenery…."

House caught on. "Maybe that will be what I need to push me over the line?"

Wilson nodded sheepishly. House laughed.

"You really want to get into my pants, don't you?"

Now blushing, Wilson replied, "Well, I'd be even happier if I could get _you_ to come _out_ of your pants."

Rolling his eyes, House sighed. "Okay. This actually sounds like a good plan. When do you want to go? And for how long?"

Wilson hesitated. "Do you think you could get Cuddy to give you Thursday and Friday off? Then we could have a four-day weekend together."

House thought about it. "Assuming I can solve this case today, okay. I'll let you know tonight."

"Great!" Wilson was now smiling. "It's going to be great, House."

House nodded. Wilson turned around to leave so that House could focus on his research. Before the younger man was completely out the door, something occurred to House.

"Wilson!"

"Yes?" Wilson asked, stopping dead in his tracks. Was House going to change his mind that quickly?

"Exactly where are you planning on taking me?"

Wilson relaxed. "That's for me to know and you to find out," he said cheekily.

House guessed that it was only fair – he had surprised Wilson the last time, so turnabout was fair play. He just hoped Wilson wasn't going to take them to some beach. He hated trying to walk around in sand.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

They were driving north. That was the only detail House could ascertain, and it was only because he was watching the road like a hawk. Wilson was being completely tight-lipped about their final destination.

"Are we going to be leaving the state of New Jersey?" House asked. He was actually beginning to feel a bit nervous.

"Maybe," Wilson teased.

"How long is this drive going to take?"

Wilson looked at the clock. "Mmmm…I'd say we have about another hour."

House immediately started calculating. They had already been driving for almost half an hour. In the grand scheme of things, an hour and a half trip was not that long. As House's thoughts tumbled around, they came to I-78. Wilson took the onramp, and they were now heading west.

"Are we going somewhere in Pennsylvania?" House asked. What on earth was an hour down I-78? The only place worth going in Pennsylvania was Philadelphia, and Philly was south of them, not north.

Wilson just smiled. House sighed, and tried to relax. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could sleep and make the trip seem shorter.

Wilson kept an eye on house through his peripheral vision. Since the older man appeared to be napping, he flipped the radio on and found a classic rock station. He kept the volume down so that House could sleep, and smiled as he thought about the trip he had planned.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

When Wilson pulled into a hotel in Bethlehem, PA, House was even more confused.

"We're vacationing in a town named after the Bible?"

"Not exactly," Wilson said, still grinning. Grunting, he unloaded their suitcases from the trunk. "We're staying here because it's very close to where we're going tomorrow."

House looked completely confused for about thirty seconds. Then it hit him. "Oh my god. You're taking me to Nazareth to see the Martin factory!"

Beaming, Wilson nodded. House looked giddy. "You're amazing, Wilson. But can't we go today?"

Wilson shook his head. "The last tour started at 2:30. We'll rest tonight, and then get there as soon as you want tomorrow morning. Tours start at 11:00."

House took his own suitcase and began rolling it into the lobby. "We have to see the museum, too."

"Of course," Wilson said solemnly. Secretly, he was hugely relieved that House had liked his idea. He hadn't been certain. After all, House owned several guitars, none of which was a Martin, and he had never heard House say anything about wanting one. But they were supposed to be the best.

They checked in, and took their suitcases up to the room. Wilson left House laid out on the bed and went to park the car.

When Wilson came back to the room, House was still laid out on the bed, but very clearly only taking up the right half of it. House gestured to the empty space beside him, and Wilson lay down as well.

They stared up at the ceiling for a while, silently running their thoughts over separate tracks. They weren't touching, but were so close to each other that House could feel Wilson's body heat. He finally spoke.

"What on earth made you think of taking me to the Martin factory?" he asked Wilson.

"I don't know. You like guitars. They make guitars. It's not that far away. It just worked out."

House would have nodded, if he hadn't been lying down. "They make the _best_ guitars. This is going to be the coolest vacation ever."

"So you've never been there before?"

"No. I kept meaning to go, ever since I've lived in Princeton. Then I had the infarction…after that, road trips just seemed to become more trouble than they were worth."

Wilson thought back to the time he had kidnapped House to go to the funeral. That trip must have been hell on House's leg. He even remembered House asking for his cane, and Wilson arguing about it. He cringed.

"What's wrong?" House asked, rolling over so that he faced Wilson. He propped himself up on one elbow.

"Just…when I forced you to go to your dad's funeral. There was so much I did wrong in that situation."

House was silent. Wilson was right. The whole trip had basically sucked. There wasn't much House could say that wouldn't make Wilson look like a jerk.

"I'm sorry," Wilson finally said, ending the awkward silence. "I know you had very good reasons for not wanting to go, and I should have listened when you tried to tell me about them. And I'm sorry for trapping you in a car for hours when you were in pain and had a history of blood clots. Any first year med student would have had the common sense not to do that, and I acted like you were just complaining because you were a jerk. You weren't a jerk, House. You're not a jerk. I was still upset about Amber, which also wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have asked you to do a dangerous medical procedure, and I shouldn't have taken you on a road trip that could have endangered your health. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

House was still silent, and now his eyes were closed. Wilson wondered if House had even heard the apology – had he fallen asleep?

"House?"

House opened his eyes. It looked as if he had been trying not to cry. Wilson wondered if that was why he hadn't replied at all. House stared at Wilson, blue eyes burning into brown. He finally spoke, one word that sent shivers of relief through Wilson.

"Okay."

Then House rolled over in the other direction, facing away from Wilson. Wilson delicately weighed his options. He decided to use the restroom, even though he didn't really have to go, so that House could have a minute to himself.

As soon as Wilson was out of sight, House sat up and ran a hand across his face. He wasn't crying – he didn't cry. Years of growing up as the son of a marine had taught him that. But there was a little moisture that came off on his hand.

He had not expected Wilson to apologize. Certain things had hung over their relationship for years, and House had simply accepted them and tried to move on. Other people didn't apologize to House – _he_ was the jerk who did things that upset _other_ people. Sometimes House had to admit to himself that the way people treated him was wrong, that other people weren't treated the same way. That maybe he didn't deserve that treatment, either. But since people just kept treating him like crap no matter what he did, he just tried not to think about it. In the years since the deep brain stimulation, Wilson had never thanked him, much less apologized for endangering his life. Now finally here it was. House was just a little overwhelmed.

By the time Wilson came back out of the bathroom, House looked almost normal. Maybe his eyes were a little red-rimmed, but only to people who were specifically looking.

"Want to order a pizza?" Wilson offered. House smiled. Here they were, ostensibly on vacation, yet too lazy to find a nice restaurant and go out.

"Pizza sounds great."

The two didn't speak much for the rest of the night, but none of the silence was awkward.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

House loved the tour of the factory. He even asked some questions that Wilson didn't quite understand, and he smiled at the thought that his friend was the most intelligent, knowledgeable person on their tour (with the possible exception of the tour guide).

When they had finished the tour and had a look around the museum, they browsed through the gift shop. House only briefly shopped, then went to the wall of guitars that were available to be played. He began taking down guitar after guitar and trying them out.

While House was busy, Wilson bought what he thought would be the perfect gift for House. Then he joined House on a bench and listened to him play. House saw Wilson approach and began to play an Amos Lee song.

_Been kicked around so long you're starting to get used to how it feels_

_The taste of blood that's in your mouth that still somehow it always heals_

_Don't know how you keep on getting up from all those ghostly blows_

_And all that pain that lingers deep down in the darkness where it grows_

_I know how hard it is to keep your head up, kid_

_To keep your head up kid_

_And there you sit on high all tucked away and locked up in the clouds_

_Waiting for someone to finally come along and take you out_

_Into this bitter world that also often treated you so cruel_

_When they turn away you know that they will say that you're a fool_

_I know how hard it is to keep your head up, kid_

_I know how hard it is to keep your head up, kid_

_And so patiently you waited for a love to come along_

_Take you out into this bitter world so often done you wrong_

_There you sit alone and there you shed a solitary tear_

_Listening to a song you think that no one else would ever hear_

_I know how hard it is to keep your head up, kid_

_I know how hard it is to keep your head up_

_Keep your head up, keep your head up_

_Keep your head up, keep your head up_

Wilson couldn't help it. He wrapped his arms around House. "That was beautiful," he whispered. He expected House to immediately pull away, but he didn't. House simply rested his head on Wilson's shoulder and sighed. They stayed together until other tourists started looking at them. Then Wilson finally broke away, and House put the guitar back. They looked at each other and left the Martin factory without speaking a word.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

That night they did go to an actual restaurant, and House at as if he had been starving for days. Somehow playing music always helped his appetite, and a place like the Martin factory was nothing short of amazing.

Wilson was pleased that House finished his whole steak. He knew the man could eat – after all, House was always stealing parts of Wilson's lunch – but somehow House was still so thin. Sometimes Wilson worried.

When they got back to the room, Wilson pulled out his gift store bag. "Got you something today," he said.

House raised an eyebrow. He knew that he was a hard man to buy for, which was why most people didn't even try. If he really wanted to, House could buy himself almost anything he wanted. After all, he made a decent salary, and he was also fairly frugal with large expenses like his car and his apartment. He wondered what Wilson could have picked out for him.

Wilson reached into the bag and removed a leather jacket with the Martin logo embroidered in small print on the chest. House's eyes widened.

"Cool," he whispered. He tried the jacket on, smelling the leather. It fit like, well, a leather glove. "We'll have to ride my bike soon so I can wear this," House said happily.

"Glad you like it," said Wilson.

House took the jacket off and threw it over the back of a chair.

"Wait…you do like it, right?"

House grinned. "I love it. But I want to try something right now, and that jacket is just going to get in the way."

"Oh." Wilson watched in confusion as House stripped off his shirt and jeans. When House walked over to the bed, Wilson realized what was going on. Wilson started to take off his own t-shirt, but House stopped him by grabbing his hand.

"No…let me," House offered. Wilson smiled. House released Wilson's hand, then gently pushed the shirt up and over Wilson's head. He carefully folded the shirt and lay it on the night stand.

"You folded my shirt?" Wilson asked, bewildered.

"I know you like things neat. I don't want you to be worrying about it all night."

It was quite possibly the most romantic thing House had ever told him. The look Wilson gave House spurred him on. House ran his hand over Wilson's chest, delicately caressing the pectorals. Then he moved on to the arms. Everywhere House touched warmed Wilson, and he moaned.

House began lightly kissing and nuzzling Wilson's neck. Wilson was amazed. He knew that at any second, House could scare just like a horse. He decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

Finally, House gently unbuttoned Wilson's trousers and slid them down. As he was meticulously folding those as well, Wilson asked, "Are we going to…?"

House shook his head. "I know I'm not ready for…I just want to get used to touching you. And to you touching me. But you should know that I'm already…."

Wilson saw House turn red, then felt what he was trying to say as House lay almost on top of him. House was hard. And Wilson didn't think he would be far behind.

The two again lay side by side and explored every part of each other as they both came to climax.

* * *

**A/N: The song that House played was:**

**Song Title: "Kid"**

**Artist: Amos Lee**

**Album: Last Days At The Lodge**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Okay, it's been so long since I've updated that the interface has actually changed. So basically, since the last update, I have quit my job, moved across the country, been working an internship for no money but that gets me that much closer to my graduate degree, and been frantically job searching. So life has been a little crazy, and I do apologize. I've also had a lot of writer's block when I have had time.**

**Thank you for the reviews and private messages, and sorry I've just been totally out of it.  
**

**Anyway, this chapter comes with a warning for child abuse.**

* * *

At first Wilson had no idea why he had awakened. He could tell through the gap in the hotel curtains that it was still dark outside. No alarms of any kind were going off. In fact, it was quiet in the room, except for the noise House was making as he shifted around.

_House_.

Why was House shifting around? Wilson groggily looked at his companion. Was it the leg? House's eyes were closed, though. It looked like he was still asleep.

"No," House muttered. He was so quiet that it was almost a whisper. Wilson didn't think House was awake at all – he must have been dreaming.

"No…don't…." House's hushed murmurs sounded frantic. Wilson revised his theory. House was having a nightmare.

Wilson weighed his options. Should he wake House up, or would it go away on its own? He made up his mind when he heard the next thing House said.

"Wilson," he breathed. Wilson put his hand on House's shoulder, ignoring the flinch.

"I'm right here, House. It's just a dream. Wake up." Wilson gently shook House in an attempt to wake the man up more quickly.

House did wake up, eyes popping open as he took a shuddering breath. Wilson relaxed a bit. Once House realized where he was, he would probably be okay, he reasoned. So he was surprised when the exact opposite happened – as soon as House saw Wilson, the older man scrambled to get away. He ended up falling out of the bed, hit feet tangled in the covers. If House hasn't looked so frightened, Wilson would have laughed at the absurdity.

_He was hiding under the bed, listening to the tell-tale footsteps, like thunderclaps storming down the hall. He had tried to be brave, to face his father like a man. But he was petrified; had ended up hiding like a coward. Shaking, he scooted further under, hoping against all hopes that his dad would just give up this time and leave him alone._

_The footsteps stopped outside his bedroom door. "No…." Greg whispered to himself, willing the man to keep going, to move on. The doorknob rattled. "No…don't…." he said desperately to himself. There was nobody else there to listen._

_The door burst open. All hope dissipated. Greg looked out through the slit of open space between the bed and the floor to see if he could gauge how angry the man was. But the face was wrong – it wasn't his father at all. It was _Wilson_. And his belt was dangling from his hand. Greg shrunk back even further, but Wilson was flexible and knew how to reach into small spaces. His arm snaked underneath the bed and seemed to bend and curl as it came closer to Greg. Greg felt him grab his shoulder and flinched. Wilson started pulling him out, shaking him. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was on top of the bed and the light was different. But Wilson was still there, grabbing him. He scrambled to get away…._

"House, it's okay," Wilson said desperately. "Nobody's going to hurt you. It's just me."

When House hit the floor, he finally woke up completely. He looked around but couldn't figure out where he was. He wasn't in his father's house of 40-something years ago. He wasn't in his and Wilson's condo, either. Where _was_ he?

"It was just a nightmare," Wilson said gently. "It's okay."

Finally it dawned on House. They were in a hotel, in Bethlehem, PA. They had gone to the Martin factory and had a great time. What on earth had set off this nightmare? And why Wilson? House had dreamed this scenario before, but it was always his dad…until tonight.

Wilson reached for House wrist to measure his pulse rate. House swatted the hand away. Shakily, he untangled the bedclothes from his feet and stood up, leaning on the bed. Wilson extended a hand to help, but House ignored it.

"Want to talk about it?" Wilson asked quietly. House shook his head. He needed some space for a while, to figure out what was going on and compose himself. He looked around, then limped to the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it.

"House!" Wilson cried from outside the door. House ignored the muffled sounding voice. He sat on top of the toilet seat, elbows on his legs, and cradled his head in his hands. He couldn't do this.

Every time his relationship with Wilson moved a step forward, something like this happened. How could they lead any kind of normal life if House was going to freak out all the time? Was it better to just end it now, and save both of them the trouble and grief that this relationship would bring?

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

Wilson tried to wait patiently. Once he realized House wasn't coming out and didn't want to talk to him, he lay back down on the bed. He flipped through the Gideon Bible from the nightstand, wishing he had actually brought something to read on this trip. Then he simply lay and stared up at the ceiling.

Their relationship was finally at a "relationship" level. They were sleeping in the same bed. Yet House was having nightmares that he didn't want to talk about. And it certainly seemed that Wilson was making things worse. Was being in this relationship really that bad for House? Was Wilson sending House into a spiral of darkness just by being with him? Why was House _still_ having nightmares? And why wouldn't he let Wilson comfort him?

The bathroom door creaked open. House walked out, looking sheepish. Wilson sat up on the bed, looking nervously expectant. House gingerly climbed into bed with Wilson.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I've called this meeting," he quipped. Wilson smiled briefly, but his eyes were full of questions. He waited for House to keep going.

House took a deep breath. "Yes, I _do_ want to talk about it," he said, mirroring Wilson's earlier question.

Wilson nodded. "Tell me what happened."

House squeezed his eyes shut. He had just spent thirty minutes in a cramped bathroom, trying to forget this dream. Now he was going to have to re-live the entire thing.

"It started out…as a memory," he began. "I was hiding under my bed. I must have been about ten. I was in trouble, and dad was looking for me." He knew he was glossing over several details, but it was all he could do to give Wilson the general idea.

Wilson wanted to break in with questions, but had the sense to keep his mouth shut and let House finish.

"That's where the memory turned into pure dream. When he finally came into the room, I looked at him, only it wasn't him. It was – somebody else," House finished lamely.

"Who?" Wilson asked gently, stroking the top of House's hand with his thumb. To the surprise of both men, House did not object. He allowed himself to be comforted by Wilson's touch for a moment. He was certain that when he told Wilson the rest of the dream, Wilson would be too upset with him to want to be this gentle.

Wilson sat with House, waiting patiently. Obviously, whoever House had seen in his dream had been greatly upsetting to him. Wilson was content to stay like this for as long as it would take. Truthfully, he enjoyed being so close to House without being pushed away. And he had always admired House's long, elegant hands. Now he was holding one of them, and he didn't want to let it go.

House looked into Wilson's eyes. "It was you," he said softly, then looked away again.

Wilson was shocked into silence. What twisted part of House's subconscious brain would equate Wilson with House's father?

House watched Wilson's reaction. When the younger man said nothing, House knew it was over.

"I'm sorry," House whispered. "I'll find a ride home and start packing my things." He got out of the bed and limped over to his suitcase, fishing around for a clean pair of jeans. Wilson was left empty-handed, still feeling the warmth from House's hand. He finally got over his shock and realized what House had just said.

"What are you talking about?" Wilson asked.

"I'll move out," House clarified, not looking up as he shook the jeans out and stepped into them.

"…_Why_?" asked Wilson, bewildered. What had just gone wrong?

"That's generally what people do when they break up. One of us has to. It's your condo. So…." House gestured to his suitcase.

"Wha–" Wilson was stunned. "I don't want to break up! I don't want you to move out."

House stopped packing and looked up. "You don't?" Now House was the one who looked shocked.

"No, of course not!" Wilson crossed the room and gently caressed House's cheek. "Slow down. Just…slow down."

"You're okay with the dream?" House asked quietly.

Wilson shook his head. "Definitely not. I'm not okay with you having nightmares so bad you fall out of bed."

House stared at Wilson. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Wilson shrugged. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it." He looked at the clock. "Come back to bed. It's five in the morning."

House shook his head. "We have to get back to Princeton at some point. We're already up. Might as well get going."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I would have thought that you of all people would understand sleeping in. Come on, keep me warm for a few more hours." He climbed into bed and held the covers up high, gesturing with his head at the empty space next to him.

"You go ahead. I'll go out and find us some breakfast." House kept his gaze on the suitcase in front of him. Wilson was perplexed.

"Why don't you want to relax?" he asked, letting go of the covers. Then it hit him. "You're afraid of slipping back into a nightmare, aren't you?"

House's lack of response only served to confirm Wilson's suspicion. There was nothing he could say that would convince House to come and lie down with him, because House was probably right – there _was_ a good chance he would fall right back into a bad dream.

"Okay, let's both go to breakfast, then." Wilson said, lifting himself up off the bed with some effort. He found some clothes and the two were out the door within five minutes.

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

Wilson sat across from House in the Dennys booth, inhaling the horrid smelling coffee and trying to wake up a little more. Now he could see the fatigue in the older man's eyes, as well. House was pushing eggs around on a plate without actually eating any.

"How often does this happen, House? The nightmares."

House fiddled with a straw wrapper. "I don't know. Every couple of weeks, maybe. Is that bad?"

Both men knew the answer, and neither spoke.

"No wonder you're always sleeping at work," Wilson said with a sigh. "You must be exhausted after a night like last night. I know I am."

House flicked the wrapper across the table. "It's fine."

"You ever talk about this with Nolan?" Wilson asked, sipping his coffee.

House nodded curtly, and Wilson let out a sigh of relief. "It's just not something he can make magically go away. I'm sorry I woke you up, Wilson. I didn't mean to."

"Woah." Wilson slammed his mug down, spilling coffee on the table. "Of course you didn't mean to wake me up. This is not your fault, House. It's not something you can control. Don't you dare apologize."

House eyed the coffee spreading out across the table. "Then…what do you want me to say? I don't know how to have…whatever conversation this is."

Wilson threw his napkin on top of the coffee, thinking about how to respond. "I want you to say…that you know it's not your fault. That's it."

House fidgeted in his seat. "I know that."

"Then say it," Wilson challenged.

"I have to go to the bathroom," House mumbled, and popped up out of the booth faster than Wilson could process the conversation. Wilson watched House limp quickly away, and then looked down at his almost empty mug of coffee. He didn't know what to do, or what to say, or how to fix anything with House. Every conversation was a minefield; every activity a doorway into a myriad of issues. He guessed he was just going to have to let House lead the way, and trust that he would figure out the signals.

By the time House returned, Wilson had already paid the bill so they could leave. He didn't bring up their conversation again.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: At long last, the next chapter. Life is still sucking right now (still job hunting; the only bright side is that after three years of one-class-at-a-time plodding, I'm only two months away from finishing my masters degree...I sure have a lot of time now to spend working on my one and only class as an unemployed bum). You would think that with all this free time I have, I would write more, but it just doesn't seem to be working that way. Sorry. **

**Now, just as a reminder, "I Could Not Make The Rose" takes place in an AU 6th season in which Wilson never kicks House out of his condo. Therefore, they have been living together since House got out of Mayfield.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Going back to work was almost a blessing. House had been pushed so far out of his comfort zone by their trip that he welcomed the return to the familiar; he embraced the structure of his job, and was happy to have something keeping him occupied all day. He was happy to be good at his job and know exactly what he was doing. For about five minutes.

"Need you in the clinic," Cuddy called as she stuck her head into the conference room. House's team was already out running tests on their latest patient, and House had been about to turn on his PSP.

"As a hospital administrator, aren't you supposed to create a schedule whereby your employees know in advance that they will have to work in the Dungeon of Doom?" House turned on his PSP anyway and hoped she might change her mind.

"As a hospital administrator, it is my job to ensure coverage for employees who have legitimate reason to deviate from the schedule. Dr. Kuhn's wife is in labor, and he is taking a personal day. I need you to fill in."

"Nooo," House drawled, "you need a _doctor_ to fill in. Doesn't necessarily have to be _me_." He didn't bother look up from the screen at all.

Cuddy stormed into the room, stood right beside him, and grabbed the PSP out of his hand. House finally looked up, indignant.

"You can have this back at the end of your clinic shift. If you haven't been naughty," she added as an afterthought.

House's brain interpreted this as a challenge, and was already coming up with potential reasons she would never return his toy. He grinned, then grabbed his cane and strode past Cuddy, leaving her confused, but pleased.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

The woman fidgeted on the examining table. "Um...can I...I mean...I...I think I really need to have a lady doctor."

House put on his best "competent, kindly doctor" look and smiled at her. She was actually pretty hot, as clinic patients went – blonde, an ample chest, and wearing super tight jeans that highlighted her...assets. If House wasn't in a relationship, he would definitely be interested. And there was no harm in looking. Especially since he had a good idea of where her problem might be, based on her request.

"You have the right to request an examination by a female doctor. But first I need to take a history and find out why you're here, or my boss will not let me trade you off to someone else. Bureaucracy, what can you do?" He flashed her another smile.

She hesitated. "I have...a rash."

House nodded, writing on her chart. "Mmmm hmmm. Can you show me the rash?"

"It's, um...actually, I sort of have two rashes...but I think they're from the same...I mean..."

"Where are the rashes located?" House asked slowly, trying not to become impatient.

"I...really would rather wait for the other doctor..." The woman was almost squirming now.

Rolling his eyes, House slammed the chart down onto the examining table. It landed several inches away from her, but she still flinched. Oh, great. This one would be a complaint against his bedside manner, for sure. So much for ever getting his PSP back. He sighed.

"Look. You obviously wouldn't have come here if you didn't have some legitimate reason to be worried. I'm a doctor. It's my job to fix problems, some of which can be embarrassing for patients. I'm not going to be shocked; I've pretty much seen everything. But you _have to tell me what the problem is before I can help you_."

The woman looked down, and it seemed to House that she was debating the options inside her head. He rolled his eyes again.

"Sometime this century," he added. She nodded and slowly lifted her shirt. Holding it up with her right hand, she grabbed on to the bottom of her bra and pushed it up just enough for House to see. The rash appeared to spread all around the area, in the exact shape of her bra.

He nodded at her. "You can put your shirt back down." He reached over and took the chart back, making a notation in it.

"You said you had two rashes?"

She nodded.

"Where is the other one?" he asked, trying not to smirk. _As if I don't know where it is_, he thought to himself.

"It's...um..." She began to unzip her jeans. House held up a hand to stop her.

"No, no, no, that's okay. I get the picture. Uh..." He tried to think of the best way to phrase his question without ending up on the receiving end of a lawsuit. "Has your underwear been anywhere _unusual_ lately?"

"No!" she said quickly. "I thought it might be something like that, too – that they might be dirty or have something on them. So I washed them again...but that just seemed to make the rash worse."

Intriguing. This was turning out to be something of an interesting mini-case. His first thought was that she was allergic to the laundry detergent, but if that were true, her whole body would be breaking out. Unless...

"What do you wash them with? Do you use something different than you use on the rest of your laundry?"

Her eyes slowly lit up. "Oh! Yes! I do. Because the label said to hand wash, so I wash them in the sink. Usually I just use the same detergent, but last week I had a coupon for this delicate stuff, so I bought it..." She trailed off, realizing that there was no need for further discussion. "Oh, thank you. I was getting really worried. I'm so glad it's something stupid."

House smiled, an actual genuine smile, and held the door for her. House watched her from behind as she left, grinning until he noticed Cuddy a few feet away, watching him. He decided to have some fun.

"Glad to help," he told the patient loudly. "It should clear up on its own. But you might want to go commando for a few days." He waggled his eyebrows at Cuddy in a leer, and watched her shocked expression. Cuddy looked at the patient, obviously expecting some kind of explosion. Instead, the blonde turned around and smiled at House.

"Thank you so much. You've been such a help."

House smiled back at her, then smirked at Cuddy as he walked by her and chucked the chart at Nurse Brenda. Nurse Brenda caught it expertly, then chucked another chart right back at him.

"Exam Room Two," she said, trying to hide her own smile. House nodded and walked into the exam room before Cuddy knew what hit her.

There was a teenaged boy sitting on the examining table, dangling his legs.

"Okay Mr..." House flipped open the chart and checked the name. "Berry, what seems to be the problem today?"

The boy cleared his throat. "Um...Tim. Tim Berry, but most people don't call me 'Mister' anything." He held out his hand as if to shake. House glared down at it without responding. The kid awkwardly withdrew his hand.

"Okay, well. I've been feeling kind of tired lately. And really, I don't think it's a big deal, but my mom was worried and made me come."

House peered at the kid. His face was pale, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He did look tired.

"Any dizziness?" he asked.

Tim nodded. "Sometimes."

"What do you eat?"

Tim shrugged. "I like pizza...sometimes I'll grab a burger from McDonalds. My mom's pretty busy, but she always gives me money to buy lunch and dinner."

House made some notes in the chart. "Do you eat a lot of hamburgers?"

Tim shook his head. "Not really. Honestly, most days I just grab a bag of chips. They're cheaper, and I'm sort of trying to save my money."

House, too, had often only had a bag of chips for dinner, so he couldn't really call the kid on that. "What are you saving for?" he asked, more to give himself time to fill out the chart than from any interest he actually had in the answer.

"My coin collection."

House looked up, suddenly interested. "Coin collection, huh?"

Tim nodded. "The next thing I want are some Russian kopeks. Hopefully some really old ones, like maybe from the 1700s."

"Sounds good," House muttered sincerely. "Look, based on your symptoms and the fact that you eat nothing but potato chips, you probably have anemia. I'm going to take some blood to confirm, then schedule you a follow-up appointment."

"What's anemia?" Tim asked nervously.

House put the chart down and walked over to the cabinet. "It means you aren't getting enough iron. Guess you'll have to eat a few more pounds of potato chips each day to catch back up. Or you could, I don't know, start eating some _real_ food. Buy yourself a few more hamburgers. Forget about the coins for a few weeks."

"If I eat better, I'll stop feeling so worn out?"

House nodded, grabbing a blood draw kit and closing the cabinet door again. "Also the iron supplements I'm going to put you on might help, too. Now roll up your sleeve; Dracula wants lunch."

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

House gave Brenda the chart and the blood sample. "Need him tested for anemia."

She took the samples and nodded, gesturing to Exam Room One with a new chart. House sighed, but took the chart. As he limped his way over, he thought about the year his father was stationed in Germany. House had been nine, and at that time had also been an avid numismatist. He had been able to obtain coins from several European countries, including the USSR. He still had his old coin collection, and he knew that it contained at least one very old kopek. Maybe he could swing by his old apartment and pick it up before he saw that kid for his follow-up. After all, House wasn't actively collecting coins, or even paying attention to his old collection anymore. It was certainly a thought.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

House was surprised at how quickly his clinic hours passed. _Must be because I'm actually doing someone else's shift_, he thought to himself. As he headed up to his office, he felt his stomach churning, and realized he had not eaten at all that morning. Normally he would see if Wilson was free for lunch, but his mind kept creeping back to the weekend. He didn't want to slip back into any of the unresolved conversations they had held. He stopped with his hand on Wilson's doorknob. Maybe he should just eat lunch alone today.

Then he rolled his eyes. He wanted some company, dammit. He wanted to tell Wilson about Bra Rash girl. Things might get awkward, but then again, maybe they wouldn't – maybe they could just have a normal lunch, as they had done many times before. He turned the knob and opened the door.

Wilson looked up from his charting with an irritated expression, then saw it was House. A smile peeked through. "House! Where have you been all morning?"

House rolled his eyes. "The Evil Witch sentenced me to clinic duty. Miss me?"

Wilson's smile broadened into a lascivious grin. "Close the door and I'll show you how much."

House eagerly slammed the door shut, then turned a smoldering gaze onto Wilson. Wilson sighed.

"Good grief, House, that _look_ you have. You're like a weapon of mass seduction."

House had no idea why anyone would think he was sexy, but he wasn't about to argue. He just pressed a gentle kiss to Wilson's mouth, resting his hand on the oncologist's shoulder. Wilson kissed back, harder, and the two soon completely forgot about lunch.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

House found a parking space right in front of 221 Baker Street and smiled at his luck. He quickly shut off the car and grabbed his cane. The sooner he found his coin collection, the sooner he could be back at home with Wilson. The thought that he was actually missing Wilson surprised him. Even though he had spent almost his whole life alone, and never thought that would change, he had somehow adjusted to living with another person.

He reached the front door and fumbled with his keys. He could not remember the last time he had been home – was it even home anymore? Maybe he should start thinking about moving the rest of his stuff to Wilson's place. It wouldn't all fit, though – maybe storage? Or maybe it was time to downsize. Anything that he hadn't already brought over to Wilson's condo was obviously not something he direly needed.

House opened the door and reached for the light, then remembered that the electricity was off. He left the door wide open so the sunlight could shine in, hung his cane up on top of the doorway, then limped in. He was just about to throw his keys down onto the table by the door when he froze.

There was a huge hole in one of the living room windows, and where there had once been a television set, there was now nothing. Upon further inspection, his stereo, old desktop computer, and several paintings were also missing.

House's apartment had been broken into and robbed.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Still not abandoned! And all messages and reviews are read, I'm just really bad at responding. Life has sucked a lot for the last year, and most of my time is spent dealing with that. But hopefully things will start looking up. At any rate, I can't believe I've been stuck on this one chapter for 6 months. Geez. Glad to finally get this out before the last 4 episodes of House come out...who knows what craziness is about to happen on the show. Hopefully not what the preview implied.**

* * *

A million thoughts tumbled around in House's head. He would have to call the police, the insurance company. They would want to know what was stolen. Exactly what _was_ stolen? House looked around, trying to take a mental inventory. What should be in the apartment but wasn't? He had brought his acoustic guitar with him to Wilson's condo, but had left the electrics, the resonator guitar, and the banjo. Were they still here? He glanced at the wall where his guitars should have hung and saw nothing but paint. _Crap_. He should have brought all of his instruments over to Wilson's a long time ago, but –

_Wilson_. He had better call Wilson to let the younger man know that he would be late getting home. He fumbled for his cell phone as he stalked into the kitchen.

Wilson answered on the first ring. "Where are you?" He sounded irritated.

"I'm at my place," House said, distracted. He opened each cabinet in the kitchen, knowing in one corner of his mind that no thief would make off with his crappy flatware, but needing on the other hand to double check every little detail.

"When are you coming home?" Wilson asked.

"That's why I'm calling." House moved on to his mugs. Yep, all there, safe and sound. "I'm going to be a little late. My apartment was broken into."

"_What?_" Wilson screeched. House closed the cabinet door and started pulling out the knives from the block.

"My. Apartment. Was. Broken. Into." he repeated slowly.

"Are you okay? When did this happen?"

"I'm fine. Not really sure – could have been any time in the past few months, really. Look, Wilson, I need to get off the phone so I can make some calls. Can we talk about this when I get home?"

House pressed the "Off" button without waiting for a response. He had been telling the truth; he did need to call several entities. But more than that, he just didn't feel like dealing with Wilson on top of everything else.

House checked the last knife, and suddenly felt at a loss. What should he check next? Should he even be touching anything? What if the police dusted for fingerprints? Or would they even do that for such a mundane crime? He really needed to sit down.

He limped out of the kitchen and collapsed onto his couch. Once down, he simply could not muster the energy to get back up. He felt completely overwhelmed. All he could manage was to stare at the empty table that had once held his t.v. He knew he should get up, or at least call the police, but he just kept staring ahead without moving. Why was it that things like this always happened to him? He was tired of dealing with the aftermath of his apparent bad luck. He had to continually find the energy to call a plumber after ripping apart his own shower pipe, or take his car in to the shop every time one of its fifteen year old parts wore down. He simply did not have any more energy to deal with these things.

He was still on the couch when Wilson found him.

"House?" Wilson asked, his voice full of concern. House moved his head slightly to meet Wilson's eyes, and then quickly looked away. He knew that by now he should have called the police and several other entities. He waited for Wilson to berate him for just sitting around instead of cleaning up this mess.

Wilson became even more concerned. From what he could tell, House was in shock. He sat down next to the older man.

"House," he repeated softly. House did not reply. Wilson placed a gentle hand on House's shoulder, not surprised at the resulting flinch. Wilson noticed that House was still gripping his cell phone, and gently took it out of the older man's hand, setting it on the coffee table.

"Sorry," House whispered.

Wilson frowned. "You didn't do anything wrong, House."

House still refused to meet Wilson's gaze.

"Are the police on their way? Do you want me to meet them at the door?" Wilson asked gently.

House shook his head. "Sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing?" Wilson asked, bewildered.

House looked at Wilson, and Wilson could swear he was about to start crying. "I know I should have called them already...I just..."

Suddenly Wilson realized what was going on. Without even replying to House, Wilson pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hello, I'd like to report a burglary," he began. As he described the situation to the police, he realized that House might mis-interpret his lack of response as annoyance. He grabbed House's hand in an attempt to reassure the man that he was not angry.

House squeezed back and waited for Wilson to finish his call.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

Wilson ended up making all of the necessary calls, and the police arrived just as he was finishing up with the insurance company. Wilson did all of the talking, and let House just sit on the couch and watch. Once the police had given them permission to start cleaning, Wilson took charge of that, as well. He covered the hole in the window with some old cardboard, and made House a cup of tea. House raised an eyebrow but said nothing when he tasted it – it was liberally laced with whiskey. Finally, Wilson collapsed on the couch next to House.

"I can't think of anything else that needs to be done right now. Want to go home and come back tomorrow with fresh minds?"

House was slow to respond. "We have to go to work tomorrow."

Wilson shook his head. "I'm calling us both in. We both could use the rest, and one of us needs to wait for the window guy to come."

House looked panicked, as if he could not handle any more tasks. Wilson gently rubbed his arm.

"I'll do that. Let's just get you home right now."

Wilson got up, and House slowly followed. Wilson could not shake the feeling that House was only following orders – who know how long he might have sat on the couch with no intervention? Yes, he was definitely in shock, and the whiskey hadn't seemed to help.

Wilson drove them home. He figured they could always pick up House's car in the morning – if they weren't going to work, they would have plenty of time to work out that and other details.

They entered the condo, and Wilson led House to the older man's bedroom. After House did nothing but stand and look at the floor for about thirty seconds, Wilson began rifling through the dresser drawers to find some pajamas. He pulled out a pair of sleep pants and handed them to House. House took the hint and changed into them.

Wilson tried to hide his shock. This was the first time House had changed in front of him. He wondered if House even realized he had done it. At any rate, the man needed rest, and it was time to go to bed.

"Good night, House," Wilson said softly, as he left for his own room. He changed into his own pajamas and climbed into bed, burrowing under the covers. He had just closed his eyes when he heard uneven footsteps coming into his room. The mattress dipped as House climbed into bed with him. Wilson smiled. He lay still, waiting to see what House would do. House snuggled up against Wilson and wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight. Wilson drifted off to sleep, wondering if House would still be holding him in the morning.

House didn't realize he was holding his breath until he felt Wilson grow limp next to him. Once Wilson was asleep, House relaxed, as well. He had no idea what he would have done tonight without Wilson. The stress of the situation had been more than he could handle, and Wilson had swooped in and dealt with everything for him. Normally that sort of meddling behavior from Wilson annoyed House, but tonight it felt like Wilson was the one person in the world who was there to catch House when he fell – he was the one person who had House's back.

Now, sleeping next to him, House felt safe. It was a feeling he almost never got from other people. All his life, he had worked to make himself feel this way – paid his own bills, bought soft bedding, microwaved his own chicken soup when he was sick. It felt wonderful that another person had made him feel safe tonight. He tightened his arms around Wilson and breathed in the younger man's scent, finally joining him in sleep.

HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW/HW

When Wilson awoke, House _was_ still entangled with him. Wilson smiled and brought his own hand up to rest on top of House's. He felt the man beside him shift at this, and froze. He hadn't meant to wake House. A few seconds later, House began snoring, and Wilson relaxed. He wanted to stay in bed and enjoy this moment for as long as possible, because he had doubts as to whether it may ever be repeated.

House had been so vulnerable last night that Wilson probably could have made him do anything. He couldn't remember any other time in which House had been so out of it, with the exception of the few flashbacks he had been witness to. But this was a different kind of emotional state – House had been completely suggestible, and Wilson wasn't even completely sure whether it was over, or whether House would still be that way when he woke up.

He supposed he had to get out of bed fairly soon. They would both need coffee, and the window place he had called last night had scheduled them for ten in the morning. That meant that at least one of them had to be up, showered, and over at House's place before then – and even though Wilson had volunteered to meet the window guy, he frankly did not like the idea of leaving House alone in the condo. Not until he was more certain about the older man's mental state.

Reluctantly, Wilson pushed House's arm aside and slid out of bed. This _did_ wake House, who watched Wilson undress with some interest.

"If you're going somewhere, you're supposed to put clothes _on_, not take them _off_," House said quietly. Wilson looked over at him, startled.

"I'm taking a shower," he explained, now down to his underwear. House raised an eyebrow.

"Well in that case, you _do_ have to take those off," he said, gesturing to Wilson's boxer briefs. Wilson blushed.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he said, changing the subject.

House smiled. "I'm glad you did."

Seeing Wilson turn an even deeper shade of red, House rolled over and averted his eyes.

"I don't hear you getting naked," he encouraged.

Wilson took the hint and stripped all the way, then hightailed it into the bathroom. When House was sure it was safe, he rolled back over and began his morning "get the leg ready to wake up" ritual. After five minutes of massaging his thigh, he hoisted himself up and went searching in the kitchen for coffee.

Ten minutes later, Wilson came into the kitchen looking squeaky clean. House smiled and poured him a mug of coffee. Wilson sat down and took it, smiling at House. House sat too, drinking his own coffee and watching Wilson's wet hair drip onto the table.

"You going to be ready to leave in about half an hour?" Wilson asked. House knew what he was really asking.

"Yeah," he said, pushing his mug away. If he was going to be ready, he would need to take a shower. He got up, leaving the mug on the table. He got all the way to the living room before hesitating and turning around.

"Wilson?" he called. Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

House struggled with what to say. "Let's stop for donuts on the way," he finally came up with.

Wilson smiled. He knew what House was really saying.


End file.
